This Is Us
by cakebythepound
Summary: As All Out War ensues, and Rick and Michonne find themselves expecting a baby, this is an exploration of their past and present as they try to prepare for the future. (Richonne. Time frame: Season 6B and Season 8.)
1. The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

**A/N:** So I've been thinking about exploring this concept since the mid-season break, and I think this is the start of a longer story. But I have no idea when I'll actually get to it, so... I guess just enjoy this one shot for now? Haha. I _hope_ you enjoy it, anyway. -Ash

* * *

 **Chapter 1: The First Day of the Rest of Your Life**

Michonne's entire body relaxed in sated bliss as she felt Rick pull out of her, quickly followed by the warm but decidedly icky sensation of his seed spilling onto her skin. Breathless, she stared at their bedroom ceiling, willing her vagina to recover as he left her with a soft and hot kiss to her neck before rolling out of bed. Their version of a bed, anyway, which was just a lone mattress situated on the floor. "God," she whispered to herself, her sweaty chest still heaving. It had been weeks, but she still hadn't gotten used to the idea of sex with Rick. _Good_ sex. Mind-blowing, toe-curling, sweat-your-hair-out, dents-in-the-new-mattress sex. The kind of sex that got her up at 5:00 in the morning when she didn't have to be up until 7:00. The kind of sex that made her forget the sick feeling that had settled in the pit of her stomach for the past few days.

Within the minute, Rick returned to the scene with a warm towel and a smile, relishing in the gorgeousness of his girlfriend with the sun's morning rays shining across her face, giving her ebony skin stripes of gold. He took the open space beside her to assist in cleaning up, but the look on her face gave him pause. Instead of the usual smirk she liked to wear after sex, she looked pensive. Troubled, even. "What is it?" he asked.

She smiled warmly at him, appreciating the way he wrapped his hand around her waist, caressing her skin. He was so affectionate. "Be honest with me," she whispered, her expression turning serious. "How do you feel about our chances with Dwight?"

He let out a deep sigh, the subject being one that kept him awake that night. Along with all the other things that kept him awake. "I don't know," he admitted, shaking his head. "I don't think it's a trick, but… you don't know until you know."

"Until it's too late," Michonne agreed, resting her hand over his. She distractedly rubbed her thumb along his hand, concentrating on the rough skin between his fingers as she pondered whether to tell Rick what else was on her mind. She didn't want to alarm him, but there wasn't exactly a way to ease him into the next thought. "I think I'm pregnant," she declared, her big brown eyes locking on his face, apprehensively awaiting his reaction.

Rick's gaze immediately lifted to meet hers, and his mouth opened, but his joy at the very prospect overtook his ability to form words.

"I _think_ ," she emphasized, noticing his smile forming. "I don't know."

"Why… why do you think so?" he stammered in a hoarse whisper, having to force himself to maintain his composure.

"I've woken up nauseated for the past three days," she shrugged, that being the clearest, most obvious sign for her. "And when you were…" She tenderly palmed her breast, accompanying it with a raised eyebrow in reference to him sucking the hell out of her nipples just around half an hour prior. "It was… a little painful."

Rick grimaced at the thought, especially knowing how hungry he'd been. "I'm sorry."

Michonne only shook her head as she carefully sat herself up, attempting to not upset her stomach any further. Resting her head against the bottom of their headboard, she gazed at Rick thoughtfully. "I'm scared to find out for sure."

He nodded, understanding why she would've been. They hadn't been together very long; the very idea of having babies wasn't something they'd discussed seriously yet. And being on the brink of war with The Saviors, the timing couldn't have been worse. "Maybe it's not that," he offered. "I mean, we've been more careful lately."

She gave him a knowing look – one to acknowledge that their 'more careful' was only in comparison to not being careful at all at the start, so it wasn't saying much. "It could've been that first night…"

A small, smug smile started to tug at Rick's lips at the thought of getting her pregnant their first time together. But it was instantly knocked away by reality; by the prospect that they'd made a _baby_ that night. _Shit_. "So," he cleared his throat, his eyes darting around the bright room. "Where do we get a test?"

Michonne sighed softly, trying to think of someone in their community that'd have one readily available. As far as she knew, no one had needed one since Maggie, more than three months back. She could only hope that there were some tests left over. "I guess if we have any here, they'd be at the infirmary."

Before she could say another word, Rick was already standing from the bed, grabbing his jeans from atop one of their dressers. "I'll ask Tara." He noticed when she cocked her head in protest, presumably not wanting others to know what might've been going on, so he sat back down beside her as he slipped on his jeans. "I'll be discreet," he promised, tenderly cupping her cheek and allaying her unspoken fears. "Hell, we already know she can keep a secret."

"This is true," she chuckled tiredly. She nodded for him to go, and quickly, as she was eager to know the answer, one way or another. She watched him throw on a shirt and disappear out of the room before retreating from the sheets herself. With Judith being at Hilltop, it had been such a nice change of pace to just hang out in bed for an extra few minutes. Or more like an hour, she realized, catching a glance of the clock on their bookshelf. The Saviors would be at their doorstep in a few hours, and for all they knew, this was their last chance to enjoy some time together.

Michonne couldn't help but think of the last time they had that chance and she didn't take it, going off to help Maggie and Glenn, then running after Daryl. Being kidnapped by the very man she was forcing herself to trust now. It could've been her last day on earth. Thank god it wasn't, but it could've been. And she'd learned since then not to take these little moments for granted. Smile when you're happy with someone; hold hands when everyone is looking; have fun at a carnival when you should be searching for guns; have messy morning sex. Or van sex. Or anytime, anyplace sex, so long as you're together. _No wonder we made a baby,_ she thought to herself.

As she continued into the bathroom for a quick shower, she began to seriously consider what it would be like to have said baby, and concluded that it wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world. She even smiled as she imagined Judith having someone close to her age to play with. She'd have Maggie and Glenn's little one, which had been such a relief to find out. It always made her a little bit sad to think about Judith growing up alone. Carl was so much older, he'd probably be out of the house before any of them knew it. She loved the idea of Judith having a little brother or sister to walk through life with.

Michonne thought of all this as she stared down at her naked body, trying to detect changes that she knew wouldn't be there, one way or another. Maggie was close to four months and was barely showing, so she knew it was a useless endeavor for herself. That didn't stop her from studying her full breasts or feeling her flat stomach for differences. Clues. Thinking about what she'd look like in six months' time. It took that long for her to show with Andre, but her body had changed a lot since then, so maybe it would be sooner. She could only hope this war would be long over by then.

"I'm here," Rick announced, stepping into the bathroom to avoid yelling over the running water. "We found three of 'em, so I just took 'em all."

With a shaky sigh, Michonne stepped out of the shower, gratefully accepting her robe as Rick handed it to her. She smiled when she'd noticed the lineup of pregnancy tests on the sink, as if it were a display at the drugstore. "Are any of them expired?"

"Not yet," he answered, proud of himself for knowing to check. "Of course if we need 'em again in another six to ten months, we might have an issue."

She settled on the third test, a different brand from the first two – the one she remembered taking when she found out she was pregnant the first time. "First Response, it is," she chuckled awkwardly.

Rick nervously nodded, watching as she opened the package without bothering to read the instructions. "Do you know what to do?"

"I know peeing on a stick may sound complicated, but it's not my first time," she joked.

"Sorry." His exhale was tense and so was the grin that followed, but he wasn't going to be calm until they had an answer. And then, depending on that answer, he would likely never be calm again. "I wasn't there for this part with Judith," he revealed, reminded of how exactly he found out Lori was pregnant the second time. "It's been a while."

"I'm nervous too," Michonne admitted. She noticed his fidgeting hands and took one of them, quickly but sweetly kissing the knuckles of his index and middle fingers.

Rick closed his eyes, instantly pacified by her touch, and he nodded for her to go on. He rested against the bathroom counter while she moved to the commode to do her thing. And then a lot of sighing and nervous tapping ensued while they waited, all the sounds in the small bathroom seemingly amplified. Michonne sat on the ledge of the bathtub, amusedly eyeing Rick as he glanced at his watch approximately every eight seconds, as if he could will the three minutes to pass faster.

"No matter what," Rick started to say, although more for himself than for her, he realized, "we're okay."

"I know," Michonne nodded, glancing at the test in her hand for what had to be the tenth time since capping the stick. She immediately popped up from her seat when she noted the two pink lines that had materialized. A wide, bright smile claimed her face, while tears formed in her eyes as she laughed at the result.

Rick didn't have to see the test or ask any questions to know that they were having a baby. He only tried and failed to blink back his own tears as he pulled his girlfriend into his arms. He never imagined that a moment like this would exist for him this far into the apocalypse. He and Michonne had spoken of reorganizing the world, but they both seemed satisfied with the family they had. For now, at least. And the timing still wasn't ideal, but who's to say it would ever be? When they found out Lori was pregnant, it was under the worst circumstances, marred by the inconvenient truth that the baby was likely Shane's. And still, Judith became one of the best things that ever happened to him. Michonne was another. This baby, whoever he or she turned out to be, would be the another.

For minutes on end, they stood there holding each other, basking in the scary, beautiful news. And she squeezed him and he squeezed back as he buried his face in her neck, kissing her damp skin, their muffled laughter filling the room. The last bit of calm before the storm they were starting.

 _For all we know  
_ _We may never meet again  
_ _Before you go, make this moment sweet again  
_ _We won't say good night until the last minute  
_ _I'll hold out my hand and my heart will be in it_

* * *

Rick's entire body clenched when he heard the blood-curdling scream that echoed throughout Alexandria, originating in the area he knew Michonne was posted. His mind registered it as hers, because she was likely in the same position as him – at the mercy of some Savior. He felt like he'd died himself when he saw through the trees, someone's body plummet to an agonizing end after being thrown over a balcony. He went numb immediately; thinking – _seeing_ – the love of his life and the eight-hour-old news of their baby had just died. He'd spent the entire day thinking about that news, energized by it. Maybe distracted by it. And just like that, it had been snatched away. His heart and his stomach sank, and he would've dropped to his knees if he weren't already on them. Just days ago, he was able to pragmatically tell Michonne that he could lose her, but he was quickly coming to realize that he never actually believed she would be the one to go. And it felt like she'd taken his soul with her.

He stared back at Negan as he taunted him, all of his bullying and pontificating sounding like white noise to him. His cognizance was blurred by anger and sadness, barely registering that he was on the precipice of losing his son, too. In dark moments, before Michonne, he occasionally fell into Lori's way of thinking – that maybe it would be better if Carl died. Wondering whether all the pain was worth the few fleeting moments of joy. He found himself inwardly asking those same questions now as he listened to Negan try to intimidate him. The words that came out of his mouth next were born of that same dark place, but he meant them. This man would pay for taking his family from him. Not only Michonne and Carl, but Abraham and Glenn, too.

 _For all we know  
_ _This may be only be a dream  
_ _We come and we go like the ripples of a stream_

Back at the high-rise, after quite literally fighting for her life, Michonne had just managed to crawl her way back inside for cover. With the double-cross and all the gunfire that followed, she desperately wanted to find Rick and Carl, but knew she wouldn't make it outside. After all the hits she took to her face, she could barely even see straight. But took them she did, and didn't push back nearly as hard as she could've, all in hopes of protecting her baby. She was willing to take an elbow to the face if it saved her a body blow. Likely a futile endeavor, in the end, given how badly she'd been beaten, but she had to try. She knew she had to try.

"Michonne."

She had no idea how long she had been there – it could've been two hours or two days, for all she knew. Her body and her heart ached in a way it hadn't in years now, and she wasn't entirely sure death wasn't slowly claiming her. But she heard Rick's voice scraping at her conscious, and she felt herself come back to life.

"Michonne," Rick called out to her again, frantically taking her hand, searching for some sign she was still with him. He could taste the relief on his tongue when she slowly turned her head in his direction. "You're alive," he whispered, his breaths heavy like his heartbeat. She was so battered he didn't know what to do, what to touch, scared to hurt anything else, so he only gently kissed her fingertips. But god, he was glad she was all right.

Michonne started to cry, comforted by Rick's touch; thankful that he and Carl were okay, too. Her lips quivered as she thought about the baby that she'd probably lose, but it wasn't the end. They still had each other, and so it was still a win. "W-w-we…" It was only then, as she tried and failed to speak out loud, that she recognized just how weak she was from the fight. "We're… we're-"

"I know," he nodded, caressing her bruised face. "I know." He gazed at her and all her strength having experienced so much loss; her beauty, not in spite of, but because of the scars she bore. "We are," he professed, knowing exactly how her sentence would end. Knowing, finally, after weeks of brokenness and crushing defeats and her being the one to bring him back to the fight; for _showing_ him that they're the ones who live, it was a statement of fact. He nodded, understanding as well as she did that the chance of them still having their baby was tenuous, but it didn't change that fact for him. "We will."

* * *

Michonne had been watching Rick for what felt like hours, but was probably closer to half of one, as he sat just beside her. Slumped over, using the edge of her bed as a pillow, she rested her hand on his head, her fingers entwined in his curls, where she could feel his pulse. Sign of life. She smiled to herself as she listened to him breathe, watching his shoulders rise and fall every other second. He seemed to be at peace, finally, but she knew he wasn't sleeping. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

Rick opened his eyes at the sound of his girlfriend's scratchy whisper, lifting his head from the edge of the bed. "Shh," he replied, discouraging her attempts to talk as he stroked her arm. "I'm all right."

"I wanna be able to talk to you," she returned with a weak smile, ignoring his instruction. "It's bad enough I feel like shit."

"You should," he smirked, rubbing his tired eyes. "You got your ass kicked."

"Yeah, well, you saw the other girl." She closed her eyes, the smile still on her face as she tried to swallow, with a painful result. Farron came alarmingly close to strangling her to death, and she could feel it. "Maybe you're right about not talking," she submitted, touching her sore throat.

"Uh huh," he quietly chuckled back at her with a knowing nod. He glanced across the room to where Rosita was fast asleep after her second round of painkillers. They'd been lucky enough to have a doctor ride in from The Kingdom to examine everyone, and she'd brought enough medication to make up for what they lacked. Michonne, of course, didn't want to take anything until they knew their baby's fate. But at least he knew no one else was suffering. "The doctor is optimistic," he revealed, his eyes scanning her face in the midnight darkness. Her bruises seemed much less scary without all the blood. "I have a good feeling about it," he nodded gently. "We'll know more as soon as they get the ultrasound machine here." Before she could speak out in protest, he made sure to add, "We're pretendin' it's for Maggie." Now, more than ever, he knew they had to be careful about revealing their possible pregnancy to anyone. They were officially at war, and it would be the first thing their enemies would use against them. He couldn't even trust their friends with good intentions not to accidentally show their hand. "Carl, Tara, and Dr. Leslie. That's it."

"That's it," she whispered back faintly, taking his hand into hers. The day was catching up to her, her swollen eyes closing tiredly as she listened to him talk. His voice was like a lullaby to her, warm and familiar. How sweet it was to wake up next to him every day, then fall asleep beside him every night. Something else she had learned not to take for granted. Another memory she'd keep locked away for the bad days. Today was another day that could've been her last. They all were, she was realizing. Because you don't know until you know. Until it's too late. So she would cherish every moment they had in the meantime. Maybe with a baby on the way. "And for now, we wait."

 _So love me, love me tonight  
_ _Tomorrow was made for some  
_ _Tomorrow may never come  
_ _For all we know_

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Lyrics: "For All We Know" - Donny Hathaway (Roberta Flack & Donny Hathaway)


	2. Who Would've Thought I'd Get You?

**A/N:** So. Hi. First off, I apologize for any confusion if you got the notification for this and were like, "WTF?" If you're still wondering — no, this has nothing to do with the NBC show, lol. This is the continuation of the one-shot formerly titled, "The First Day of the Rest of Your Life." Which, yes, I wrote in April and it's now December. (Don't judge me!) I've been thinking about this on and off all summer, and finally decided to outline it once season 8 started. And after the clusterfuck of this half season, I desperately needed some Richonne in my life, so. Here we are! (And for anyone wondering, yes, I will finish Palm Trees... eventually.) In the meantime, I really hope you enjoy! -Ash

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 **Chapter 2: Who Would've Thought I'd Get You?**

 **[ _A year ago_ ]**

"You think you know how to get back from here?"

Michonne briefly glanced at her companion, his question startling her from her musings — most of which were about how this group was going to defeat Woodbury. She'd almost forgotten she wasn't alone. "What?" she asked. Another glimpse into her rear view mirror revealed Carl asleep in the backseat.

"I asked if you knew how to get back to the prison from here," Rick repeated. His blue gaze narrowed on her as he recognized that she seemed a bit distracted. Which — not that he knew her well — seemed unlike her. "Or do you need me to direct you the rest of the way?"

Her eyebrows knitted in confusion, internally questioning whether he was planning to send her back to the prison without him. Did he suddenly trust her that much after just one afternoon with Carl? "Am I dropping you off somewhere?"

"No, I was… I was just gonna try to get a little sleep."

Michonne nodded slowly, trying not to show her disappointment. Even if they weren't actually talking, it was nice to have him awake with her. On the way to King County, she felt like a chauffeur, driving around two people who couldn't stand to be around her. This was different. "Oh. Yeah," she shrugged, feigning indifference, "I think I can find my way back."

Rick took a moment to study the side of her face — futilely, as he couldn't glean anything from her expression. "Is that all right with you?"

"It's fine with me," she replied calmly, trying to keep another one of their interactions from turning contentious. "We've got another two hours? You _should_ sleep."

"I'd stay up with you," he added defensively. "It's just that I have watch tonight."

"You don't need an excuse to go to sleep," she quietly chuckled. "I'm fine."

"Well last time I wasn't payin' attention, you got us stuck in mud, so I dunno about 'fine.'"

"You still gave me the keys," she quipped, smirking to contain her smile. His lazy drawl amused her more than she liked to admit – especially today, as he'd mostly been using it for good. Even a bit of levity. In fact, he had only implied once that she would have to leave the group after all of this was over. "You should get your sleep," she insisted. "You lost a lot of blood today."

He instinctively touched the spot where he'd been stabbed, shaking his head as he recalled all the things Morgan said to him. "You didn't have to bring that up."

"I'm just saying, I think that's as good a reason as any to get some rest."

Rick also had to stop himself from smiling, feeling like she was joking with him, though he was hesitant to respond in kind – just in case he was wrong. "Well all right," he sighed gently. "It's mostly a straight shot, but if you're not sure about the turn, just wake me up."

"Oh, thanks. I was actually thinking about getting us lost, so I'm glad you suggested that."

He peered at her and her sarcastic tone before reclining his seat a few inches. "I was tryin' to be accommodating," he said plainly.

"We'll you'll have to excuse me if I don't know what that looks like after the last couple of days of you being the exact opposite," she retorted, the playfulness in her tone apparent now.

"Yeah, well you haven't been a walk in the park yourself, you know."

"I will fully admit that I was a bit hostile when I first got to the prison," she granted, nodding as she maneuvered the darkening, winding roads. "After everything that happened with The Governor, I had my guard up."

"Had?" Rick interrupted to ask.

" _Had_ ," she confirmed with a soft chuckle. "I know… you're not like him."

Rick appreciated hearing that, especially when she'd seen the way he acted with that group that'd shown up at the prison a few nights prior. The fact that she understood him 'seeing things'. He realized he'd been harsher with her than he needed to be. "Well I appreciate you comin' along today," he submitted quietly.

"Like you would've given me a choice," she simpered, glancing over at him, only to find his gaze already on her. "For what it's worth, I appreciate you not leaving me there with Merle."

"You're not the only one with firsthand knowledge of what an asshole he is."

"I've gathered that. Officer Friendly."

It was Rick's turn to let out a small laugh, the sound still managing to fill the quiet car. He was at a loss for some pithy rebuttal, and moreover, had little interest in talking about Merle Dixon, so he allowed the conversation to subside. He closed his eyes, waiting for slumber to find him; expecting visions of Lori to haunt him in the meantime; listening to the sounds of the tires rolling along the pavement, picturing Michonne driving in the middle of the road. Which drove him a little bit crazy, even though it shouldn't have. Everything about her, it seemed, drove him a little bit crazy. And yet, being around her was the only time he felt sane.

Their journey continued in mostly silence, dusk turning to night as Michonne navigated the unfamiliar roads. She did her best to focus on all the landmarks she'd remembered passing on the way; relieved as she spotted walker pileups and brush they'd cleared earlier that day. And as much as she did feel like a chauffeur at that moment, she also enjoyed that Rick and Carl trusted her enough to let their guard down and go to sleep. On the way there, Carl was watching her like a hawk. She scoffed in amusement, thinking about what a difference a few hours made.

"Not much longer now," Rick commented with a yawn.

Michonne looked back at him, surprised to hear his voice so suddenly after the prolonged silence. "What?"

"I was just sayin' we're almost home," he answered, readjusting his seat so that he was upright again.

"Oh. Did I wake you up?"

"You didn't," he promised. He ran a timid hand through his hair as he wondered whether he should finish his sentence. "...I didn't actually go to sleep."

"What?"

"I tried, but I was really just layin' here. Resting my eyes." He could hear all of her little mumbles and sighs. And with his eyes closed, her scent was more palpable, too. She smelled like apricots and peanut butter. Which was a welcome change from the odor of death that had overtaken everything else.

"Waiting to make sure I made the right turn, huh?" she knew.

He shrugged, with a bashful smile to match as he answered, "Maybe. Subconsciously."

Michonne let out a sigh, shaking her head at the fact that she'd just been thinking all those nice thoughts about him. "Have you always had trust issues, or is that a new, end-of-the-world thing?"

He smirked at the question. Hesitant as he was to delve into _why_ he had trust issues, it was quite clear that she had them too, so her question wasn't coming from a place of judgment. "I'd say it's a new thing," he confessed, purposely keeping his voice low. "I was probably a little too trusting... before."

She nodded thoughtfully, wanting to give him a sympathetic glance, but she didn't want to take her eyes off the road for a number of reasons. "You looked happy," she commented, referring to the photo she'd seen of him with his perfect nuclear family. After what she'd seen of the town, she bet they had a literal white picket fence. "Before."

Rick glanced out of his window instead of responding – mainly because he didn't have a response to give. That felt like an entirely different life now. It was hard to believe he was even the same person as the one in that picture. "You're one to talk about trust issues, you know," he submitted instead. "You couldn't even mention that you knew Andrea?"

"I didn't have a chance to."

"So you didn't know who we were when you showed up to the prison?" he pressed, his tone disbelieving.

"I had no idea," she was quick to assure him. "I figured it out after I realized you knew Merle. And by then, you were so mad at me for leaving…"

He unintentionally grimaced as he recalled how she came back to him, all bloodied and bruised. "Another thing you didn't trust me with."

"No, I didn't," she was happy to admit. "That was a mission for _me_."

"If you'd mentioned it, maybe we could've helped you."

She gave him a knowing glance — one that said 'yeah right' — but she didn't speak, continuing to drive instead.

Rick watched her for several beats, his curiosity piqued in her refusal to continue that conversation. Who was this woman that'd gone toe to toe with The Governor and managed to not only walk away, but take his eye in the process? Who toted walkers around like pets, according to Merle? She obviously had a keen sense if she saw Woodbury for what it was when Andrea couldn't. And he realized it in that moment — she fascinated him.

"It's my birthday," she divulged meekly, completing her declaration with a sidelong glance, an attempt to see his reaction.

His stare flickered, mostly wondering whether he'd heard her correctly. "What?"

"I dunno if it's today exactly. I lost track a while ago," she shrugged. "But give or take a couple of days?"

Rick immediately smiled at that bit of information, appreciating that she was making an attempt at trusting him with something. "Hmm," was all he said, though. As he thought about how Judith was only a few days old. Maybe their birthdays were the same. Maybe she was destined to come along with that baby formula like some kind of guardian angel. "What's the date?"

"August seventh," she answered, figuring he probably didn't actually care. "It's silly to think about at this point, but... it's been on my mind anyway."

"I think it's probably good to hold onto some of those things." He stole another glimpse of her as he inwardly decided that he would make that Judith's birth date, too. August 7th. "Is that why you got yourself that cat?"

Michonne grinned at the thought of her new art piece, but shook her head. "I just saw it," she chuckled. "And I wanted it."

"Now I feel bad for being so mean to you earlier," Carl chimed in from the back seat, causing both his father and Michonne to turn toward him, surprised.

"You were awake all that time?" Rick asked, his voice conveying a hint of irritation at the notion. Almost feeling like they'd been eavesdropped on, despite knowing he was back there.

"No," he answered through a well-timed yawn. "I just woke up a couple of minutes ago."

"So you missed us talking about you then," Michonne joked with her new friend, smiling at him in the rear view mirror. She was glad for the interruption in a way, unsure where her conversation with Rick would've headed otherwise.

"Very funny," Carl shook his head. "I'm pretty sure my dad isn't ready for that yet."

Rick turned all the way around in his seat to look at his precocious kid, wanting to ask what that was supposed to mean. But instead, he just laughed, because he was glad to see his son had lightened up. "He knows me well," he commented to Michonne with a grin meant to keep that lightness going.

"Well. Maybe we'll get there one day," she suggested, not thinking much of her statement as they continued down the road.

But Rick gazed at the side of her face, her expression still indistinguishable, especially now, in the dark, and he replied with a small, thoughtful smile. "I'd like that," he said.

Michonne could feel her face growing warm, thanks to that drawl of his that only emphasized all of his words. So an innocuous statement like that sounded downright flirtatious coming from him, and she didn't know what to say. So she didn't say anything. Simply concentrating on the pitch-black, winding roads ahead of her. The world was dark in a lot of ways now, but especially so after the sun went down, making the lack of street lights so much more conspicuous. So she would use that as an excuse not to continue talking. She'd already shared more with these two people than she'd ever planned to.

"Carl, you never did say what you ended up getting for your sister," Rick commented, noticing that Michonne had gone quiet.

"Oh," he frowned, not realizing that his dad was interested. He turned to the trunk of the vehicle to survey all the plastic bags full of items they'd collected. "I dunno, pacifiers and bottles and that kinda stuff," he described nonchalantly. "But mostly clothes and toys. Michonne said she's gonna grow out of her stuff like every three or four months, so we just took everything they had left."

"That was smart."

"And we got her books, but we probably need more," he appended. "Michonne said she'll learn to read faster if someone is reading to her regularly."

Rick couldn't help but chuckle at his son suddenly having so much faith in everything 'Michonne said.' Especially when just a few hours ago, he was utterly annoyed that he'd asked her to come. He also couldn't help noticing that she was right on both accounts. "You have experience with kids?" he questioned her. Given how she interacted with Carl — in one afternoon, managing to break down the wall he had up against her — he wouldn't have been surprised to hear that she was a teacher in her past life.

Michonne shrugged again, reluctant to expound on that part of her life. "My sister had kids," she mumbled, hoping he would leave it at that.

He was sorely tempted to ask more questions about her sister and the rest of her family. Where did she come from? What was she doing before she found Andrea? But these days, those questions always had heartbreaking answers, so he refrained. Besides, they were pulling up to the prison gates, so conversation would likely cease for a while now. They had a war to wage against this Governor, and he imagined their little field trip was likely the last bit of calm before an inevitable storm. "Well, we made it," he announced with a quiet sigh.

Michonne smirked as she noted Daryl being the one to open the main gates, peering into their car as he did. "You think Daryl will trust me now that I brought you back in one piece?"

"'Trust' is a strong word," Rick joked, sending a lax wave to his friend as they passed. "I've known him about a year now and I'm not entirely sure he trusts me yet."

"He does," she sent back knowingly. "They all do."

Rick sighed again, heavier this time. While that was probably true, he sometimes wished it weren't. He was so tired. And more than that, terrified of failing them. After what happened with Lori, he wasn't even sure why they did. "Well, soon we'll find out if they should've."

As she settled on a parking spot near the cellblock doors, she glanced at Rick briefly, knowing the toll this all must've taken on him. As if losing his wife and gaining a baby on the same day wasn't enough in the old world. She couldn't imagine having to deal with that and a psychopath like The Governor trying to kill his people at every turn. No wonder he was seeing things. She offered a small, comforting smile, hoping that it told him that _she_ trusted him. Or she was trying to. Not that it would've mattered to him — they were essentially strangers. For all she knew, he still wanted her to leave after all this was said and done. And yet, she wanted him to know that she was with him anyway. "I should head in and ask Glenn and Maggie to help with this stuff since you're injured," she declared teasingly.

"That's very funny," he chuckled. "I think I can handle a few bags, thanks."

"Better safe than sorry," she shrugged as she opened her door. "We need you strong."

Rick immediately noticed her use of 'we' and it made him smile again. He'd smiled a lot that day, considering the dire circumstances. And he wanted to say something that recognized that. He wanted to thank her. Not just for coming along, but for making the day better. He wanted to relay what Carl said, and assure her that he wanted her to stay, because it wasn't just about common interests anymore. That's if it ever was.

But he didn't say any of that. Instead, they exited the car with little fanfare, Daryl joining them before they even got the trunk open; soon followed by Carol, and Beth, toting a freshly-awakened Judith to greet the threesome. Rick noticed that was when Michonne disappeared, figuring she wasn't quite so comfortable around the larger group. Maybe she wasn't interested in getting too close to all of them. She liked her distance. Even when she moved inside the cellblock, she slept away from everyone else. She didn't like to be touched. He was definitely taking notes. Collecting all the information he could, trying to paint an accurate picture of this woman that intrigued him so. He supposed things would go back to normal after that — their strained interactions, both of them too belligerent for their own good. But he sincerely hoped not. If nothing else, the day had proven they made a pretty good team.

* * *

 **[ _Now_ ]**

"So I dunno, I figure once we get the Sanctuary surrounded with the walkers, we'll have some leverage."

"Assuming nothing goes wrong elsewhere," Michonne guessed, attempting a glance back at her boyfriend; a lazy smile on her face as his fingers gently worked through her hair. Sat between his legs on their mattress, the glow of candlelight creating a bit of romantic ambience, she had all but forgotten about the physical pain she was in. Had they not been discussing going to war, it'd feel like they were in some version of her old life – the one of her twenties, in her studio apartment in Harlem, her bed the only furniture she owned. She quietly wished they could live in this moment forever.

"I think we have to assume somethin' will go wrong elsewhere," he commented casually. In contrast, his gaze was fixed on her hair as he twirled each of her thick locs between his fingers the way she'd shown him. He was so flattered that she was trusting him with this, he was determined not to fuck it up. "We have some wiggle room."

"We'd have more if I could come with you," she lamented with a sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he countered immediately. He hated that she even thought to feel bad about it. "Not when your entire face is black and blue."

"I know," she smirked sadly. Shit, she couldn't even lift her arms to do her hair. She didn't have any business being in anyone's war. "I just feel left out. And like I'm letting you down."

"You shouldn't feel either of those things," Rick whispered. "You're the one that got us here in the first place. You could sit out for the rest of this whole thing and you still will have done your part."

She affectionately rubbed at his leg, appreciating him for saying that, even if she had no intention of taking heed. "You know I'm not doing that, right?"

Rick let out a heavy exhale as he scooped another small dollop of oil onto his finger before massaging it into the next and final section of her scalp. "What if this doctor says you have to?"

"We don't even know if we still have a baby, Rick."

"But if we do…"

"If we do, then I'll obviously do whatever the doctor says," she replied simply. She was trying not to get her hopes up. Even if the doctor was optimistic, she couldn't afford to be. She wasn't going to believe they still had a baby until the ultrasound machine arrived and she had tangible proof. "But that's a big 'if.'"

"You've been telling me for the past week now, ' _We're the ones who live_ '," he said it as if she needed reminding. "You don't think that includes our baby?"

Michonne tried not to smile at the way he said those last two words. _Our baby_. But she loved the way it sounded. In that accent; the hope imbued in that one simple statement. He made it sound real, and that was terrifying and glorious, all at once. "I think I'd like to change the subject," she eventually decided. She closed her eyes, resting her back against Rick's body as he continued to twist and tghten her hair.

"We can always try again if we need to," Rick offered, having noted the way her body tensed as they spoke. He could tell she didn't want to get attached to the idea, and after Andre, he completely understood that. But he also didn't want her to be afraid to want things. "We're just getting started here."

"I know. But it's your last night at home, and I don't wanna spend it talking about something we can't know the outcome of yet."

"All right," he relented. He took the opportunity to study the top of her head, gazing upon his work — a tiny canvas of freshly retwisted locs. "I think I got 'em all," he added, stealing a kiss to her neck, inhaling the lovely scents of her shampoo and shower gel.

"Oh." She was surprised at how quickly he'd finished, perhaps because she'd gotten so comfortable there. Carefully, she climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom to check his work. Removing the clips from her head, her hair falling around her face, she immediately smiled at the fresh 'do, but then grimaced as she took in her full reflection. She'd seen herself plenty of times over the past two days, but it was still so hard to look at her own bruises. All tiny reminders of how close she came to dying...

"Did I do it wrong?" Rick called after her when she didn't comment.

"No," Michonne returned in the softest of voices. Her eyes flitted back up to the top of her head. Reminding herself instead that she was very much alive. And happy. And the fact that she could be happy, despite the devastating blow of losing Glenn, and now Sasha, said a lot. It said everything. "It's perfect," she added, louder this time.

 _Through drought and famine  
_ _Natural disasters  
_ _My baby has been around for me  
_ _Kingdoms have fallen, angels be calling  
_ _None of that could ever make me leave_

She reentered their bedroom, her head cocked to the side as she gazed at her boyfriend, perched in their bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a look that managed to cross between concern and pride.

"What's wrong?" he asked, regarding her questioning stare.

She shook her head before turning for their dresser to grab a headscarf from her drawer full of them. "You know what I was thinking about earlier?"

"What's that?" he replied, already pulling himself out of bed to assist her. Knowing it would only be a matter of seconds before she realized, again, that it hurt to lift her arms.

"I was thinking, if we're having a baby, we don't have to worry about you pulling out for a while."

Rick smiled, because he relished the thought of not having to pull out during sex — what a relief that would be; but also, he knew that she was mostly making fun of him. "You're an asshole."

"It's true!" she grinned back. She turned, allowing him to cover her hair with the the satiny scarf, making a mental note of how he'd managed to tie it just right. Not too tight, not too loose. He knew her so well. "I mean, obviously pulling out wasn't your strong suit."

"Obviously," he conceded, given their current circumstances, "but you didn't have to say it like that."

"I was just saying. It's something to get excited about."

"We don't even know when we'll get to have sex again," he chuckled. He gently ran his hands down her bare arms as he finished his task, delighting in the feeling of her muscles and velvety skin beneath his fingertips. God, he was going to miss her for the next couple of days. He wasn't used to them being apart.

 _Every time I look into your eyes I see it  
_ _You're all I need  
_ _Every time I get a bit inside, I feel it_

Michonne turned back to him with raised eyebrows and a smirk, her gaze landing on his lips. "I hope you don't think you're going off to war without giving me a proper goodbye."

Rick quirked his own eyebrow in response, while his eyes surveyed the scope of his girlfriend's body — and more to the point, her bruises. "Michonne, you can barely move..."

"Well you can do most of the work." She slowly, carefully reached up to pull the straps of her tank top from her shoulders until she was lowering the shirt, her areolas peeking from the fabric, soon followed by her nipples.

He couldn't help but lick his lips as she revealed her tits, but he was doing his best to think with the right head here. Just because they wanted to didn't mean that they should. "You're in pain," he said as if she didn't know; his voice coming out in a murmur, low and unconvincing.

"Which is why I want some pleasure," she retorted, her eyes still on his mouth as she softly fondled her own left nipple, rigid between her fingers. "You're really gonna deny your injured girlfriend her parting wish?"

Rick let out a small scoff that combined with a chuckle as he tried to look away, anywhere but her pouting face and soon-to-be naked body. "Michonne..."

"Rick..."

"Would it even be good for you when you're hurt like this?"

"It's always good for me," she assured him in the sultriest of whispers, with a gaze to match it. It consumed him, in fact, begging him to believe her when she said that she wanted this. "I need you, and nothing else will do."

He knew that she knew exactly what she was doing by replying that way. Because it was all he needed to hear before taking her face into his hands — gently, of course — her chest pressing against his as he pulled her in for a kiss. Her lips and her body were equally warm, and he gladly melted into both, his tongue tenderly latching onto hers, tasting the mint of her toothpaste, reminded of their first time together.

 _Who, who could've thought I'd get you?_

Between kisses, Rick managed to pull off Michonne's top in one swift motion, the sight of her plump breasts whetting his appetite. But he immediately recalled her describing how tender they were, so he refrained from touching; he simply looked. Watching with a fiery gleam in his eye as she retreated to the bed, her slim body splayed across the mattress.

Normally, he would've fallen on top of her with fervid kisses to every part of her body his tongue would reach, but he was reticent now. No matter her protestations, she was injured — the maroon splotches along her arms and ribs were proof — and he was going to be soft. Even as she spread her legs, welcoming him between them, and her panties just barely covered her pussy. He licked his lips at the sight of her dark brown lips peeking from the purple fabric, and a small wet spot that relayed her arousal. He smirked at the thought of what he was about to do to her.

 _And when we're making love  
_ _Your cries they can be heard from far and wide  
_ _It's only the two of us  
_ _Everything I need between those thighs_

And Michonne watched him right back, relishing in the way he turned a bit red whenever he'd get to see her naked. The idea that she was like a rush of blood to the head for him was such a turn on. Coupled with the imprint of his dick pressed against his boxers, she was practically aching for him. Her heart began to beat faster when he joined her on the low mattress, his hands finding their way to her hips as he began to pull off her underwear. He was so good at this part. He was good at all of it, of course, but she especially enjoyed the way he looked at her as he uncovered her most intimate parts – like she was precious to him. It wasn't just lust in his eyes. He loved her.

 _Every time I look into your eyes I see it  
_ _You're all I need_

Rick smiled as he threw her panties to the floor beside them, his mouth watering at her perfect pussy staring back at him. Her dark brown skin already glistening with her own juices in the candlelight, he dove right in with a gentle kiss to her plump lips, making her quiver with delight. It had only been a couple of days since they were last together, but he'd missed her all the same. Her taste, her scent. Using his flattened, wet tongue, he softly licked at her slit, then sucked at the pink bud protruding from it, eliciting a moan from her that not only filled the room, but him, with pride. He had an arm wrapped around each of her thighs to keep them from closing in on him as he devoured her — he'd learned his lesson about that by now. And devour her, he did. Running his tongue in tiny circles around her clit before kissing his way down to her dripping wet opening. "Fuck," he mumbled against her flesh, his throbbing cock driving him as crazy as he was driving her. Within minutes, he was so hard, he was slipping through the opening of his boxers.

 _Every time I get a bit inside, I feel it_

"Baby," she quietly whimpered, her fingers digging into the sheets, her toes curling with pleasure. She was in a haze of ecstasy as he fucked her with his tongue. All the aches and bruises she's been trying to pretend didn't bother her, they really didn't in that moment. She didn't need painkillers when Rick was her very own drug. He made her feel like nothing else. His mouth did things she didn't think were humanly possible. Those two magical lips and that spectacular tongue made her feel high as a kite, exploring every crevice of her pussy like he'd never been there before. Even his nose got in on the action, as she could feel it grazing her clit, the deliciously ticklish sensation driving her insane. "Where did you come from?" she whispered in a daze.

Again, Rick smiled, pleased, but also awed, as he'd been thinking something quite similar. A year ago, they were just learning how to communicate without disagreement. So many walls up back then. He wasn't sure how it came to pass that they now had a family together. That they shared a home and a bed and he was literally face deep inside her, about to make her cum on his tongue. What a difference a year makes.

 _Who, who would've thought I'd get you?_

And as his thoughts wandered, so did Michonne's hands, one of them tangling in his curls as they often did, and the feeling was euphoric. He could feel his dick moving as she gently massaged his other head. "Mmm," he moaned and mumbled, softly sucking on her clit like candy. Her hips bucked upward, and he took that opportunity to penetrate her with his index and then his middle fingers, the soaking wet sound only torturing him more. He could hardly wait to be inside her.

Michonne loved those quiet little moans of his. As he kissed and licked her up and down, the sounds of the pleasure he got from it only making it better for her. He sounded like he was enjoying his favorite meal and savoring every bite. "Shit," she groaned, the entire lower half of her body trembling. She could feel herself on the precipice of an orgasm. He must've felt it too, because he began to pull away, kissing the inside of her thighs and moving southward. He liked to do that — bring her right to the edge and then stop. She whined his name, her face contorted into a pout as she tried to guide his head back between her thighs. " _Rick_..."

He grinned devilishly as he gave her one last kiss and then came up for air. "Sorry," he submitted, his twinkling eyes locking with hers as he lowered his shorts.

"No you're not," she shot back dryly. But her eyes were then drawn to his thick cock as it sprang free and he began to stroke himself with his unbandaged hand. Suddenly, she wanted him inside her more than anything. Watching as pre-cum dribbled from his tip, while she could feel her own juices slowly streaming between her cheeks, her pussy throbbing with desire, she opened her legs as wide as she could. She nodded for him to continue, then closed her eyes as she waited to feel him.

 _Don't you love when I come around?  
_ _Build you up, then I take you down_

Rick lifted one of her legs over his shoulder and got into position, pushing himself into her as slowly and as gently as he knew how, still terrified of compounding any of her injuries. But god, she felt good, her walls tightening around him the second he was deep enough. "Shit," he grunted. She was so wet, thanks to him and his tongue, his mind nearly went blank. And it only got worse as he began to thrust with long, deliberate strokes that left both their mouths hanging open. Her hips seemed intent on meeting his, only sending him deeper inside her, and he felt like he was going to die. "God," he moaned, his mouth then diving for her neck as a distraction. "Fuck."

"Rick," Michonne whimpered back. His hot kisses only intensified the feeling of him plunging into her. His stroke set her on fire, even this overtly tender version of it. He knew exactly which spots to hit, including her clit as he slipped his hand between them to tease it, massaging it as he fucked her. The wet sounds of their sex, the scent of it, the feel of her soft tits kissing his hard chest, it all had her insides screaming. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she breathed, though she felt as though she couldn't. He felt so goddamn good. Because he understood her – and therefore, her body – in ways that no other man had. Granted, she'd only ever been with two men before him, but she didn't know that sex like this was possible. Proof positive that they were made for one another.

 _Who, who would've thought I'd get you?_

It took everything Rick had not to pick up his pace in all his excitement and fervor. She was so wet, he was practically swimming in her, ready to drown in it, and this slow and steady stroke was about to lose him the race. In fact, only a few more seconds passed before he felt that familiar wave of ecstasy shoot through his body, complete with a tiny explosion as he finished inside her. "Shit," he exhaled against her skin.

Michonne's eyes opened in surprise when she felt that warm gush, unused to him climaxing before her. But he hadn't stopped or even altered his pace, which made her smile, just before it made her cum. Unexpectedly and intensely, starting with a slow rumble that quickly turned into an eruption that tingled and tickled her entire body and claimed all of her faculties. Much in the same way that everything about Rick had taken her by surprise. "I love you," she hummed through the pleasure, not even entirely aware of what she was saying. "My god."

He grinned at her moans as he continued to lap at her hot skin, basking in being as close to her as two people could possibly be. In every sense. How he wished they could stay just like this forever. "I love you," he returned, releasing her neck solely to look into her eyes. To gaze at her beautiful, bruised face, as if he could memorize it for his next couple of days away. "I'm so glad you found me," he whispered.

 _Who, who would've thought I'd get you?_

She giggled in response, pushing his long, dampened tendrils from his face so that she could stare back, unobstructed. She, too, needed something to keep for herself when he left. She'd already decided that her favorite shirt of his was staying with her, but she could use a mental picture of him, too. Just like this. She traced her finger along his bottom lip completing the image in her mind as she answered him, "I'm so glad you saw me."

 _And I'll take some time  
_ _Just to be thankful that I had days full of you  
_ _Before it winds down into the memories  
_ _It's all just memories..._

* * *

Lyrics: "Get You" - Daniel Caesar feat. Kali Uchis (Freudian)


	3. Moving On and Getting Over

**A/N:** Happy New Year! I hope everyone's 2018 started off well! I spent the afternoon editing this chapter, and miraculously got it done (a good sign!), so here I am! I'm sure some of you will recall me asking on Tumblr whether you'd prefer to have the past and present scenes all in one chapter. Well, you did, but as it turns out, that's more stressful than my schedule or sanity will allow right now, lmao. So I'm gonna split them. Hopefully that still makes for an interesting and not too confusing story. The bulk of the narrative will switch between that time jump after 6x09 and then 8A - with a few changes. (I'm sure you've read a million stories that lead up to The Moment in 6x10, but much to my regret, I never got to explore those two months, so this is my way of doing it now!) And I very much hope you enjoy! -Ash

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Moving On and Getting Over  
** **[ _Then_ ]**

" _That's it, sweetheart. One knee in front of the other. There you go."_

Michonne stopped in her tracks when she overheard the murmur of activity coming from Rick's room — soft thumps and bumps as the sound of his soft twang tickled the air. Even if she hadn't heard his exact words, the tone of his voice told her he was talking to Judith. He reserved that gentle timbre for her, which Michonne always found endearing. This hardened soul had such a soft spot for his kids. He didn't speak to Carl in quite the same way, but the way he interacted with his son was very much he same. The tender touches and proud looks. She loved observing that about them.

She was reluctant to interrupt them, as Rick didn't get a lot of down time with his kids. Not since they left the prison. Always running after one emergency or another, trying to keep afloat. The last few days had been a welcome change, seeing him around the house. Rebuilding Alexandria by day; tending to the kids— and more specifically, Judith, with Carl still in recovery — by night. She always stole glimpses of them when she could, and that evening was no different. She slipped out of the bathroom, not quite finished with her nightly routine, and across the hall to Rick's room. The image of him on all fours with Judith alongside him, attempting to mimic him, was utterly adorable. It made her smile. And then, as the two of them began to scoot across the carpet, it made her giggle.

Rick glanced back at the sound of Michonne's infectious laugh, pleasantly surprised to see her standing in the doorway. "Hey," he greeted her.

"Hi." She chuckled again as she watched him readjust Judith's course, seemingly without even thinking, ensuring she didn't run into a wall. "I didn't mean to disturb you two. I just heard the fun and wanted to witness it for myself."

He sat back on the floor so that he had a good view of both his daughter and his friend as he answered, "You're not disturbing us." He waved her into the room, unwilling to take no for answer. "Come sit with us."

Michonne accepted the invitation — albeit a bit bashfully — as she tiptoed into the room, sidestepping the shuffling toddler and taking a seat on the empty bed. She was grateful to join them, the rest of the house being empty with Daryl and Carol out on a run, and Carl at the infirmary. In fact, the only reason she'd been preparing for bed is she didn't have anyone to talk to, so she was going to retire early. This was a welcome change of plans. Watching Judith learn this new skill. It reminded her of when her little one was just learning to crawl. Like Judith, Andre favored one leg over the other, so he tended to drag himself around the room until he became comfortable with the act. "I wish we had more carpet, so she could just roam freely," she commented. She hated that she was confined to only the upstairs bedrooms.

"She's all right," Rick beamed, gazing at her too. "Remember, a few months ago, she didn't have this. She would've been learnin' to crawl in a barn."

Michonne smirked, recalling how stubborn Rick had been about even coming to this place. "If it weren't for me..."

"Yeah, yeah, you saved us all," he returned, feigning a sarcastic tone. He knew very well that she had.

When his straight face converted into a smile and then a laugh, she found herself struck by what a good mood he seemed to be in. And after all the heavy shit that'd happened that week — from the herd nearly ruining Alexandria, to Jessie and her boys dying, to Carl being shot — it was a wonder he seemed so light.

"I'm joking," Rick clarified, noting her stare. "I know we're here because of you."

"I'm so glad you're willing to admit the truth," she shook her head, rolling her eyes in a playful gesture. "But no, I just - I was noticing… you seem happy."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing is _wrong_ with it," she chuckled awkwardly, her stare studying him. "I just wanna make sure you're okay." And maybe it was more for her benefit than his. Because she wasn't sure how to process this version of him. After something traumatic, he tended to have... moods. PTSD. He'd been struggling their entire time at Alexandria, and now, suddenly, he seemed happy as a clam. It was odd.

He laughed, even though he genuinely appreciated her concern. "Do I not look okay?" As he waited for an answer, he smiled at Judith crawling between them, running his hand through her blonde curls as she passed.

"You look fine," she acknowledged. "But after everything that's happened, it would make sense if you weren't."

"I dunno," he sighed, scratching as his stubble with his palm. "Carl losing his eye is one of the worst things you can imagine happening to your child," he granted. "But I think I'm just so relieved he's alive."

Michonne nodded, agreeing, even though her grimaced expression seemed to say otherwise. She just hated thinking of all the things that kid had lost. "Yeah," she whispered.

"I hope it doesn't sound terrible to say this, but it kinda feels like what happened was good for us, in the end."

"Us?"

"Alexandria," he appended. "Without that herd threatening to ruin us, I dunno if I ever would've trusted these people. And I _needed_ to trust these people."

"You did," she conceded with a nod. Her eyes avoiding his, they landed on Judith as a soft rattle came from her area of the carpet. The infant managed to find a distraction in her favorite toy — a pair of red plastic cups,. "And I'm glad that you've come around..."

Rick sat back, his eyebrow raised as he waited for her to go on. When she didn't, he decided to ask, "But..."

"I don't know if there's a 'but'," she shook her head. "I guess I'm just worried that you haven't seemed at all affected... by Jessie's death." She said it carefully, as if he might crumble at the mention of her name. "I mean, having to... do what you did..."

"I had to save my son," he answered quietly, his smile having fallen by then. "I hate what happened to her. She was nice," he admitted with his own nod. "But if I have to choose between Carl and anyone, it's gonna be Carl every time."

"Of course," she frowned. "I'm not saying you did anything wrong. I'm saying you don't seem to be mourning this woman you were..." Her words trailed off when she realized she didn't even know what he was doing with Jessie. All that trouble he went to to save her from her husband, and she still wasn't entirely sure why. "Were you dating?" she asked quietly.

He chuckled bashfully, scratching at the curls at his neck as he searched for the answer to that. "I dunno, Michonne."

"Why are you so uncomfortable?" she laughed back — equally as uneasy if she were being honest. This was a weird subject for them, and again, she didn't know why.

"I dunno. I guess I'm wondering - I mean, I hear what you're sayin', but. You'd think it's a good thing that I'm not moping around, all depressed and crazy."

"There's nothing wrong with being depressed and crazy," she offered with a little smile. "If that's how you feel."

"It's not how I feel, though."

"Okay." She relented with a simple nod as she crossed her legs on the bed. "I just... thought I'd ask. In case you needed someone to ask."

"I appreciate it." As silence began to dominate the conversation, Rick glanced out of his window at the setting sun, then checked his watch, confirming that it was close to Judith's bedtime. It was only highlighted by the fact that she couldn't seem to hold onto her little cups, whining each time she managed to drop them. She was getting cranky. "Come here, little lady," he cooed, crawling across the carpet to collect her.

"I should go," Michonne declared, half-smiling at the irresistible sight of the ten-month-old cradled in Rick's strong arms. "You need to get her to bed."

"I do," he agreed, but he wasn't ready for Michonne to leave yet. He enjoyed these moments with the three of them. And the four of them, with Carl. As nice as it was to have a full house when Daryl and Carol were around, when it was him and Michonne with the kids, it felt right. It was like the family dynamic he'd been aching for since the world ended. Hell, even before that, really. "The thing is," he began, just as she started to rise from his bed, "I don't know what it means that I don't necessarily feel sad. Does that make me an awful person?"

Michonne cocked her head to the side thoughtfully, confusedly; her eyebrows knitted, because she didn't know what it meant either. "You're not an awful person," she assured him.

"We knew each other two weeks," he shook his head, focused on his daughter. "I mean... I don't even know if you can be close to someone in that amount of time. Not _really_."

"You can do a lot in two weeks," she offered diplomatically. "It's not the amount of time. It's what you do with it."

"Yeah," he nodded to himself. "But she was married and then, after Pete... I dunno," he sighed. "I just don't think we even got off the ground. Not emotionally... Certainly not physically."

She tried not to noticeably react, but certainly, a strange wave of relief seemed to wash over her as she realized what he was saying. And as uncomfortable as it made her to discuss, her curiosity seemed to be getting the best of her. "Did you come close?" she wondered, her voice quiet, as if she were hoping he wouldn't hear her.

Rick shook his head. "A kiss a few nights ago. In her garage, of all places."

"It's not like you can't have sex in a garage," she joked. Mostly to cover up the pangs of whatever else she was feeling. The things she didn't want to admit she was feeling.

"It wasn't like that," he chuckled quietly. "It was a sad kiss. Desperate."

"You were sad?"

"We both were." His voice was hollow when he finally looked up at Michonne, just as Judith's eyes fell closed. "Which is why it feels so good to feel good now."

"I don't mean to take that away from you," she said, gazing back at him sympathetically. "I just wanted to make sure it was real."

He nodded appreciatively, enjoying that she cared about him enough to check. He understood why it seemed strange for him to be okay now, after spending so long not being okay. After having to chop off the hand of the woman he'd been so absorbed with for the past few weeks. But he was, indeed, okay. Sitting there with his two favorite girls. "It is real," he whispered.

* * *

An hour later, Rick and Michonne had reconvened downstairs for what had become their usual nightly routine. Since moving in together, he'd learned that in the evenings, after dinner was served and kids were off to bed, Michonne liked to sit and read. Sometimes she'd take to the front porch, but usually, it was on their couch, with some version of a dessert Carol had concocted. Sometimes he'd find a book of his own to occupy his time, but most often, he'd find some reason to interrupt her. And that evening was no different.

"Hey, do you have any laundry that needs to be done?" Rick called out to her.

Michonne glanced in his direction as he passed with a laundry basket, only hoping that he had his favorite jeans in that load. But no such luck — he was still wearing them. "I have a few things in my hamper," she eventually replied to him. She briefly second-guessed allowing him to do her laundry when she realized that would include her underwear. She tended not to care when it was Carol, figuring she knew what she was doing. But perhaps Rick used to take care of such things for his wife. Still she decided to warn him, "Don't wash the bras, Rick."

"I know," he answered flatly as he slipped into her room to find her dirty clothes. He mindlessly sifted through her tiny tank tops and assortment of pants, throwing them in with his and the kids' stuff. He paused ever so slightly when he came to a pair of her panties, having to shake away the images he'd conjured up, her sauntering around her bedroom in them and nothing else. He exchanged those thoughts for memories, recalling the last time he did a woman's laundry with any regularity. Lori tended to do the housework, but every now and then, he'd take on the duty; and without fail, he'd do something to fuck it up. Luckily, life at the prison made him better at his chores.

He left her basket empty, save for her brassieres and the one pair of non-cotton panties in the bunch, then headed off to the laundry room to get started. "Have you heard from Carl since dinner?" he yelled to her.

Michonne's eyes instinctively went to the walkie talkie sitting in front of her, thinking it strange that she hadn't, now that he mentioned it. "No," she returned. She retrieved the radio from the table to investigate and make sure it was working properly.

"Well I guess he doesn't need us since he has Enid."

"Sounds familiar," she mumbled, setting the device on the couch next to her, just in case Carl did decide to check in. "Well I'll be listening for him," she assured him before going back to her book.

Rick finished loading the machine with all their dark clothes and began the cycle before strolling into the living room to join his friend. He couldn't think of anything he enjoyed more than this part of the day, getting to simply relax. "I am tired," he declared with a big sigh, plopping down beside her on the three-seated sofa. "Feels like the days just keep gettin' longer."

"They are," Michonne retorted, side-eying him as he sat forward and rifled through the books she had on the table. "Summer is coming, you know."

"I don't keep up with the days like you do," he commented breezily.

She rolled her eyes and kicked her bare foot against his leg to get his attention. "Pass me another cookie?"

He picked up the plate containing the last few oatmeal cookies, courtesy of Carol, and offered it to her before taking one for himself. "Still hungry, huh?"

She shrugged. "Delicious as your meatless chili was, it definitely wasn't enough."

"Yeah," he chuckled knowingly. He liked that she enjoyed food unapologetically. Junk food, especially. It didn't make sense, given her figure and lack of body fat — save for her ass, which must've been where it all went. "We gotta get more food in this place soon. Everyone is runnin' low."

"Yeah, hopefully Daryl and Carol manage to bring something back," Michonne agreed.

"They're lookin' for building supplies though," Rick said, sitting back again with his own cookie. "We should head out in the next few days to see what we can find."

"'We' as in you and me?"

He looked over to her, slightly baffled, wondering whether she was really questioning that. "Isn't it always you and me?"

Michonne gazed back at him, her eye catching his for what felt like too long. But she wanted him to discern what she was thinking, feeling, without her having to say it out loud. He was good at that when he wanted to be. But now wasn't one of those times, it seemed. "Is it?" she relented to ask.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he frowned. He didn't want to take offense before she could explain what she meant, but he had. "I can't even remember the last time we weren't together."

"It was a week ago," she recalled, her tone dry and almost cold as she resumed her reading. Or tried to, anyway. But Rick wasn't going to let her off so easily.

"A week ago," he repeated, calling to mind that brief few hours where they separated after their plan to move the herd went to shit. "Are you mad at me or somethin'?"

Michonne let out a hard sigh and set her book down across her lap. He wanted to have the conversation — and so did she, really, as her passive-aggressiveness was letting on — so they were going to have it. "I'm not mad, Rick. I'm confused."

"All right, well what about?"

God, how she wished their faces weren't so close in that moment. "Why didn't you tell me. About Jessie," she asked.

He opened his mouth to speak before realizing he didn't have an answer. He didn't know why. Or at least, he never stopped to think about why.

"I mean, I suspected. After all the drama with Pete, I knew it was more than just... you being the friendly neighborhood cop. But you never said anything, so I thought maybe I was imagining it," she shook her head. "Overthinking it." She hated how it sounded, demanding answers from him about his personal life. But after everything they'd been through, maybe she deserved them. "I know it's not my business - not... really. But this thing happened, and it's made me question things I thought I knew."

"I'm sorry," he replied quietly. Nervously. "I wasn't tryin' to keep it from you. There wasn't much to say. And I really - I didn't think you would care." When she looked at him disbelievingly, he reevaluated his words. "What was I supposed to do? Come home and tell you I liked a married woman?"

She continued to look at him, waiting for a satisfactory explanation for his antics. Maybe she should've chalked it up to the fact that everything he'd done at Alexandria was a bit of a fluke. He hadn't been himself — not the version of himself that she knew, anyway — since they got there. And maybe it was as simple as that. "I don't know. Maybe so."

"I think... deep down, I knew it wasn't right," Rick finally confessed. His gaze flitted to the table to avoid hers. "Tryin' to save her like she was mine to be saved. Thinkin' she could save me... by bringing me back." He chuckled ruefully at how silly it all sounded now. "I kept sayin' how we get to come back, but I dunno if I ever really believed it. And being around her, it did bring me back to my old life. Haircuts and art projects. It felt normal."

Michonne felt her eyes sting with tears, wondering what that must've felt like. To have something that reminded you of home. That made you feel like you could just slip back into your old life, like a missing puzzle piece, found. "Must've been nice…"

"It was," he nodded, staring at Michonne's hands, clasped tightly over her book. "Until you realize there's a new normal. I'm not the person I used to be. I thought I wanted that old life and just couldn't have it. But I want... and maybe even _need_ somethin' different now. "

"Hm," was all Michonne could say as she listened to him try to explain.

"I dunno, watching her die like that… I was reminded, again, why we're the ones who've lived through all this." His eyes darted up to find hers again, hoping she heard what he was saying. "We're survivors. You, me, Carl. Our family. Jessie… she wasn't. And I hate it for her. I hate that I couldn't protect her and her boys like I said I would. But she would've taken me down with her. So I just wanna move on."

She didn't know what to say, because she felt like he was being honest with her, and yet, she was unsatisfied with his answer. She wanted more. She wanted an apology. Not for not telling her about it all. That wasn't really what she was annoyed by. At least not wholly. She sighed, wishing she understood why this ridiculous thing bothered her so much. Why it took up so much space in her mind. Especially now that the woman was gone. She should've left well enough alone. If Rick said she was fine, she could leave it at that. And yet… "I guess it just - it was kind of... jarring for us to walk in this place, and immediately, you chose her." She let out a shaky sigh as she realized what she was admitting here. That she felt betrayed in some small way. "It made me feel...forgotten."

"Michonne—"

"I know you didn't mean to," she interrupted before he could say it. "You've explained your position, and that's fine. But that doesn't change how it made me feel. It doesn't change the fact that I've had to clean up your messes and help take care of your kids, while you ran around being reckless and careless." She felt butterflies as she spoke. But not the good kind. They were nervous ones, the ones that settled in the pit of your stomach and made you feel sick. "And I don't think you stopped to think what would happen if you really pursued a relationship with this woman. Us co-parenting, living together... what we're doing now. It would've just..." She looked at him again finally as her words hung in the air before asking, "Would you have let her take my place?"

"You know that's not possible," he immediately denied, frowning. "Even if she were here, even - even if she wanted to," he stammered, "you know I can't replace you."

She smirked at how dismissive he was of her concern. She was certain he believed that, of course, but his actions told her that he never even thought about it. Apart from him becoming close to someone else, sharing his sadness with a stranger, that might've been what hurt most. "That's the thing, Rick. I _don't_ know," she retorted hoarsely, the emotions stuck in her throat. "Because you didn't tell me anything."

"Well I'm tellin' you now." He turned his entire body toward her, watching her as he spoke his words. "You're not replaceable. Certainly not by someone who couldn't take care of herself."

"That's cruel," she simpered. But she understood that his grand epiphany about Jessie probably had a lot to do with the fact that his involvement with her nearly got his son killed. Which had to be a terrible wake up call.

"Truth is cruel," he countered, scratching at his stubble. "But that is the truth."

"Fair enough."

"I didn't even take my ring off," he noted with a small smirk, showing her his hand. "So how serious could it have been?"

"Oh, so that's when I should worry?" she asked, hoping her sarcastic tone didn't sound like friendly banter in this case.

"That's when we'll both know I'm ready to try again."

Michonne glanced at the hand containing said ring — it was loose on him now, thanks to all the weight he'd lost, probably from stress and everything else. But she'd run out of words to say on the subject. She was glad she brought it up after nearly a month of silence, but she hadn't quite gotten what she wanted from the conversation, and instead, she was just tired of it. "Good to know," she finished. She carefully placed her book face down on the table, so as not to lose her spot, and looked over to her friend. "I'm gonna call it a night."

"Already?" he asked, disappointed. He hated ending their conversation on a serious note when things had been so light lately.

"Yeah," she said simply. "I'll see you in the morning. We're on cleanup at eight."

He nodded as he watched her rise from the couch and disappear into the darkness of the house in practically the same breath. As he heard her footsteps on the stairs, his gaze fell to the coffee table where she'd left her book, letting out a small sigh when he took note of the befitting title — _The Idiot_.


	4. Hearts Still Beating

**Chapter 4: Hearts Still Beating  
** **[ _Now_ ]**

"I know you wanted to go with them," Carl declared, commiserating with Michonne as they watched the convoy of armored vehicles roll out of Alexandria. "I did too."

"Everything hurts," she shook her head in reply, though she was still more bothered by the thought of being left behind than the physical pain she was in. "But I'll help you defend this place."

Carl gently grimaced at the notion that she'd be helping him and not the other way around. "Help _me_?"

"Oh yeah," she confirmed with a nod, smirking at him playfully. "This is your show." When he gazed back at her, obviously in disbelief, she moved closer to him. "Okay," she boasted, nudging him. "You'll see."

He only shook his head at his stepmother, figuring her injuries had clearly gone to her head. As long as his dad was around, he was pretty sure he'd be in charge of this whole thing. The man didn't know how to rest. Supposedly, he'd stepped down a year ago, after his mom died, but that clearly only lasted a few months. "Okay, Michonne."

"Before that, though, I need you to do something with me..." She looked over to Carl again, waiting for his response – receiving it in the form of a set of curious blue eyes. "I... may be pregnant," she revealed quietly. Cautiously.

His eyes grew to the size of saucers as the words registered, when it was clear that she wasn't joking. "What?"

She chuckled awkwardly, uncomfortable with the feeling of saying it out loud. She'd been sitting with it for several days now, mostly in silence, and the idea of telling people – telling _Carl_ – felt so strange on her lips. "I don't know for sure because I just got my ass kicked. But I was before the fight."

He looked down, disappointed when he realized that that meant she might've _lost_ a baby. "Does my dad know?"

"Of course," she whispered. "We found out the morning of." She could see his dismay and wasn't sure of the reason for it, but went on to assure him, "He didn't wanna tell you until we were sure it was still true. But I wanted you to know what was going on with me."

"Is that the real reason you stayed behind?" he wondered.

"It's one of them," she admitted. "Not to say that pregnant women can't fight…"

"Like Maggie," he smiled.

"Like Maggie," she agreed with a nod. "I've even heard stories of women in war in Liberia, on the front lines up to eight months."

Carl marveled at the thought, but then, he could totally imagine that being Michonne in a few months' time. She wasn't going to be the type that hung around the house nesting, even if they weren't at war. "Wow."

"So. Today we're gonna try to find out for sure, and I was hoping you'd come with me."

He frowned, questioning what, exactly, that meant and what he'd have to do. He'd already balked at the idea of being in charge of Alexandria for the next couple of days, so he definitely didn't think himself ready to step into his dad's shoes in this regard. "Come with you where?"

"Just to the infirmary," she chuckled, detecting and understanding his reluctance. "Tara is supposed bring back the ultrasound machine from Hilltop, and that doctor from the Kingdom is gonna take a look, see if we can find a heartbeat."

"I bet the baby's fine," Carl tried to offer encouragingly, though he didn't know whether it was for Michonne or for himself. "My mom was in a car accident when she was pregnant with me, and everything was okay."

Michonne smiled appreciatively at his show of support.

"Actually, she was in one with Judith too, now that I think about it," he smirked.

"Jesus, what was your mother doing during these pregnancies?" she laughed at the tidbit. Of course, after she thought about it, that lined right up with the few things she'd heard about Lori. It also explained why Carl was such a terrible driver.

"My mom was... a lot," he granted, smiling to himself as he remembered her. "But I guess my point is, Grimes kids are strong. And so are you. So I think this one is gonna be okay, too."

She grinned again, all while trying not to think about the part where Judith wasn't exactly, biologically a Grimes. But she supposed the sentiment remained the same. And it was nice to get that reassurance when she'd been so anxious about the whole thing. She'd desperately wanted Rick to stay for the exam, but their whole plan against the Saviors was time-sensitive, so she refrained from even asking. But as she said goodbye to him, watching him leave for a war she could only hope he'd return from, she realized she didn't want to be alone for this either. If they had lost the baby, she wanted family to be close. "So you'll come with?"

"Of course," he frowned. "You know I'm always gonna be there for you."

"I feel like it's always better to ask than to assume."

"No, you can always assume I'm gonna be there for you," he smiled back. Gazing at her bruised face, he involuntarily did a survey of the rest of her body, wondering if – more like hoping – he was right, that a fetus could've survived what she went through. It was also kind of weird to think that Michonne and his dad could be having a kid. Just a year ago, the two of them barely even talked. Mostly because his dad was such a dork around her, which should've clued him in that he liked her in _this_ way. But Carl was too busy forging his own relationship with Michonne. They were always the closest in the family. And he wasn't always sure how he felt about the shift in the family dynamic, his dad seemingly taking that spot. So he was really glad that he got to be there for Michonne in this way today. "What time is your appointment?"

Michonne chuckled at his phrasing, as it made her feel like the world hadn't ended, at least for a sliver of a moment. "It's kind of whenever the doctor gets here," she shrugged. "We're expecting them back by sundown, so hopefully before dinner."

Carl nodded, knowing Michonne didn't like to deviate from their dinner schedule, particularly for Judith's sake. Then he let out a big sigh with the heady realization that by the end of the day, they'd know if there'd be another Grimes added to the family. "Okay," he confirmed. "I'll see you then."

* * *

Over on the Hilltop side of town, the three teams that would be waging war against the Saviors had gathered, preparing to head off on their various missions. Rick had just finished a conversation with Maggie and Ezekiel when he noticed Father Gabriel standing a few feet away, seemingly watching them, and he took that opportunity to approach him. He'd been wrestling with whether to tell someone about the possibility of Michonne being pregnant – even though they'd already said they'd keep it a secret, now that they were going to battle and his own mortality was staring him in the face, he wasn't so sure about that decision. As confident as he pretended to be, he couldn't pretend that he _knew_ he would make it home at the end of the day. And if he didn't, he wanted to know that someone would have Michonne's back. And somehow, Gabriel had become the person he trusted most outside of his immediate family.

"Can we go over here for a minute?" Rick requested, pointing to an area of the open field that was isolated from everyone else.

Gabriel stared back at him with concern, as the look on Rick's face didn't inspire any confidence. "Is everything okay?" he asked, following his friend to the shaded area.

"Everything's fine," he promised. "The plan is still a go, exactly as we rehearsed it."

"Okay…"

"This is a personal thing," he continued, figuring that would allay his obvious apprehension. "What I'm gonna say here stays between you and me."

"Of course," he nodded seriously. He felt a sense of pride that whatever it was, Rick was trusting him with it. He really appreciated what their friendship had evolved into; especially when just a few months back, he was threatening to kill him practically every day.

Rick let out a deep breath before speaking, hoping Michonne would forgive him for this if it ever managed to come up. "I don't know what's gonna happen today," he started, his eyes conveying the fear that the rest of him had been hiding. "If there's one thing I learned from my grandfather, it's that all the speeches and all the strategies in the world can't really prepare you for what war is like. And it's not a given that I'm gonna make it home..."

"You're gonna be fine," Gabriel returned, his smile reassuring, as he was unwilling to even entertain the idea of anything otherwise. "You're Rick."

"Be that as it may," he nodded appreciatively at the compliment, "I'm not immortal. And we're walkin' into enemy territory. Bullets are gonna fly, walkers are gonna be everywhere and—"

"I think you're just nervous."

"I need you to listen to me," Rick replied calmly. "I don't know what's gonna happen," he repeated himself. "And Michonne and I just found out that we might be having a baby," he revealed, his voice lowering to a whisper. He swallowed hard, praying he wasn't making a mistake here by telling him. "So I'm gonna fight like hell to make it home to her, but if I don't—"

"You're gonna make it home," Gabriel cut in once more, his tone emphatic. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure you do."

"I appreciate that," he nodded again, trying not to become frustrated by all the interruptions. "But if I _don't_ , I need you to make sure that she and the kids are taken care of."

He smiled at the request, his chin lifted in pride, understanding that Rick Grimes was leaving his family in his hands, which was not something he took lightly. "I will, Rick."

"If somethin' happens to me, she's gonna fight in this war, no matter what anyone has to say about it," he knew, "but just... make sure she's safe. Don't let her anger cloud her judgment. Tell her I said this," he added, knowing his voice was the only one she _might_ listen to. His heart was heavy with all these morbid thoughts, but he went on to pull a sheet of folded paper from his shirt's pocket, Michonne's name written on top, and handed it to his friend. "Tell her I loved her," he submitted with another nervous nod. He looked out to the horizon at the rising sun; he could only hope that this conversation was futile because he'd be seeing her again in a matter of hours. But just in case he didn't... "And not – not just that I loved her, but... she's been the greatest love story of my life." Some of the words he'd written on that paper sprang to mind – _My heart, beating or not, will always belong to you_ – and he found himself wiping away tears. "And let her know I'll be waiting for her."

Gabriel swallowed back his own set of tears, not wanting to think about a world without Rick, much less one where he'd have to deliver this message to Michonne. But he would if he had to. "I will."

* * *

"Good evening."

"Good evening," Michonne greeted her OB with a small smile. It was only their second interaction, but she'd decided she liked the woman. And a tiny bit of comfort came with having a doctor that looked something like her; who hopefully understood the risks that Black women faced in pregnancy and childbirth. Of course, none of that stopped the gnawing in Michonne's stomach as she took in the ultrasound machine sitting in the room. As much as she thought she wanted an answer to the question that had been sitting on her mind for two days now, she was pretty scared to actually get it. She wasn't prepared for another disappointment. "Oh, and this is Carl," she announced when he stepped into the room behind her.

Dr. Leslie offered a bemused smile to the teenager as he came over to shake her hand. It took a few seconds, after moving past the awe of such a young man saddled with an eye patch, to realize that he was Rick's son. "It's nice to meet you."

"Same here," he replied politely, his deep voice also taking her by surprise.

"Rick had to leave," Michonne went on to explain. Regretfully. "So Carl's my moral support."

The doctor smiled in acknowledgment before offering the nearest bed to her patient. "Well I'm hoping you won't need it," she said encouragingly, "but I'm glad you're not alone here." She looked to Carl before beginning to check her equipment and added, "I'm thinking you may wanna step out of the room for a moment while mom gets undressed."

"Oh." He looked perplexed by the request, but he was happy to oblige, even if he had no idea what was going on. "Sure," he nodded awkwardly. "Just let me know when you're ready."

She smiled warmly as she watched him head out into the kitchen area. She couldn't pretend she hadn't noticed the slight changes in their relationship ever since she and Rick got together. She knew that part of it was because he was getting older and you tend to grow away from your parents anyway. But he hadn't been as open with her lately, so she hoped she wasn't pushing him to do something he didn't want to do. "This won't take long, right?" she asked the doctor as she began to disrobe from the waist down. She was glad she'd get to keep her shirt – Rick's shirt – throughout the exam, giving the illusion of him being close.

"A few minutes," she shook her head, a bit distracted as she prepared the transducer.

"Do you guys have a lot of babies at the Kingdom?" Michonne wondered. Given their large, safe community, she liked to imagine that operations there, more than any of the other communities, were quite similar to the old world.

"A lot, no… but three successful deliveries in the last year."

She nodded, feeling encouraged by that statistic as she slipped into the bed and covered herself. She wished she was unable to stop herself from asking the next question on her mind. "Any unsuccessful ones?" she inquired meekly.

Dr. Leslie was hesitant to answer, waiting until she had her machine in place before revealing the Kingdom's sad truth. "One. Mom just lost too much blood and I couldn't save her."

Her expression fell, especially as she thought of Lori and how she died. She'd been thinking of her a lot these past few days. "Did the baby make it?"

"He did," she assured her with a comforting squeeze of her shoulder. "We did an emergency C-section when we realized she couldn't handle the delivery."

Michonne swallowed visibly before turning her head toward the door. "Carl, you can come on back," she called for him.

The teenager returned to the quiet room with a timid smile and moved to stand on the side of the bed opposite the equipment. As the doctor took her seat, he kept his eyes on the screen, waiting for an image to appear. He was really glad they lived in a place where things like this were available now. Hershel made do with his mom with practically nothing — he would've loved this place.

Michonne felt her sore body tense as she felt the cold probe moving inside her, the sensation more uncomfortable than she remembered with Andre. Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling, unable to look at any of it for herself; she would wait for the doctor to say something.

"Whoa," Carl whispered as a giant gray mass appeared on the screen, save for a fist-sized black bubble with another tiny gray figure inside of it. "Is that the baby?"

"It is," the doctor grinned. She used her mouse to click around the image, enlarging it for the two of them; then splitting the screen between Michonne's uterus and a cardiogram that showed the fetus' sign of life. "And... that's the heartbeat."

Michonne finally allowed herself to observe the screen, letting out the quivering breath she'd been holding. She watched with a smile as the monitor showed a steady beat moving quickly across the screen. It was real now. "Thank god," she chuckled, feeling a tear slip down the side of her face; her own heart felt like it was beating out of its chest.

Carl grinned at the clear relief in her voice. In just a matter of seconds, she sounded so much happier and alive than she had the past couple of days. "I told you," he said, reminding her of their earlier conversation. "Grimes kids are strong."

She supposed that was true. After the beating she'd just taken, it was a miracle this kid was still kicking. "Is there any way we can print these? So I can show Rick?"

"Sure, of course," Leslie nodded, though in truth, she wasn't quite as clear on how to do that – she just knew Dr. Carson's machine had the capability. "Let me just make sure there's paper..." she said, continuing to inspect the equipment.

"Do you think we can radio him to let him know the news?" Carl wondered.

"He's probably too far out," Michonne guessed, having had the same thought. "But we can give it a try."

He nodded in agreement before his gaze flitted back up to the ultrasound. He was in complete awe of the fact that he was looking at a live image of his tadpole-sized brother or sister. Of course he'd seen things like this on TV before, but never in person, and certainly not his own flesh and blood. He wished his dad could've been there to see it, too. "This is so cool," he commented.

Michonne looked up at him, amused by the wonderstruck expression on his face. It seemed like he'd grown in dog years since they'd met, he was so much more mature now than back then. But in that moment, she could see hints of the kid she became friends with back at the prison – that same smile that took form when she'd bring back comics for him in her travels. She was so glad she'd asked him to come. "It is, isn't it?" she agreed, staring back at her baby.

Over the next few minutes, they completed the exam, including a series of questions that made Carl so uncomfortable, he decided to wait outside. Which made Michonne laugh, because of course. She left with a giant bottle of prenatal vitamins that she folded into Rick's shirt and carried in her arms, along with a printout of their baby.

When they arrived home, their neighbor and babysitter, Karen, was sitting outside with Judith, the two of them enjoying the warm evening weather. She'd made them dinner – a vegetable lasagna, thanks to a donation of supplies from Hilltop – and she'd also prepared a plate of PB&J sandwiches, just in case they didn't like the lasagna, or needed lunch for the next day. Carl found it odd that people did things like that for them now. He'd gotten used to them being a normal community; even liked it when Deanna was in charge and they were just people that lived there. Most of them actively disliked his dad. But recently, they'd been falling all over themselves to keep their family happy, and he didn't quite understand it. Maybe they just liked Judith a lot. Or maybe it was because they'd finally seen some of the world and realized how hard it really was, and they appreciated his father's leadership. Either way, it was weird. And he could only imagine what it would be like once they found out Michonne was pregnant. Another Grimes to revere.

"Can we call dad now?" Carl asked from the doorway, Judith in his arms as the two of them watched Karen head down their front steps.

Michonne turned from the refrigerator, pouring herself a glass of water as she tried to calculate where Rick would be at this point. If all went well, he should've been close to the junkyard by then – still alone, she hoped. _If_ all went well. She pulled the walkie-talkie from her belt loop and gently slid it across the counter for the kid. "Go for it."

He frowned at the fact that she apparently wasn't going to do it herself. "You're really pushing this whole, 'You're in charge now' thing, I see," he chuckled.

"Excuse me for trusting you," she joked back.

"You guys aren't planning to retire or anything, are you?"

She shrugged in response. "Retire is a strong word. But we'd like to take a step back..."

"Because of the baby?"

"Because we're tired."

He accepted her answer, but he couldn't pretend the idea of his dad not being the leader wasn't scary. Carl always thought he'd take on the role someday, but not, like, tomorrow. But he decided to go with it, for now at least, picking up the two-way radio, and pressed the talk button, hoping he'd find his father on the other end. "Dad, it's Carl," he uttered into the speaker clearly. "If you can hear me, let me know."

"Daddy!" Judith yelled, attempting be included in whatever her mother and brother were doing.

The three of them waited anxiously for a response, staring at both each other and the walkie-talkie, for seconds that turned to minutes. Silence.

"He's probably just out of range," Michonne suggested, having figured as much when they had the idea. Of course, that didn't stop her stomach from dropping at the thought of him not being okay. There were so many moving parts in this war, and the fact that she couldn't be out there with him bothered her more and more with every minute that he was gone. She wanted to trust the process – the plan they'd come up with together – but god, it was so hard to sit at home, subsisting on pure faith. But it was all she had.

* * *

 **A/N** : Not the most exciting chapter, I know, but there are a few things here that I plan to explore later on, while also trying to match it all up with what's happening in 8A, so... yeah, lol. I'm gonna take a bit of a detour in Chapter 6, so hopefully the "Now" gets a little more interesting then. In the meantime, thank you for reading! -Ashley


	5. Birthdays

**A/N:** So... hi! I know it's been a while (if anyone's reading this, I love you!), but I haven't abandoned this! With the show back on hiatus, I feel like I have a little more time to devote to this. And really, Richonne deserves a (somewhat) better season 8, lol. So I'm gonna try my best to keep updating semi-regularly while also writing Tennessee. (We'll see how that goes, haha.)

This chapter takes it back to 6B, and picks up just a few days after where chapter 3 left off. I wanted to finish that conversation while also giving a little (and I do mean little) backstory on Rick and Michonne, so... that's where we are! I hope you enjoy! -Ash

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Birthdays  
** **[** _ **Then**_ **]**

After a long day of cleanup, Michonne walked up the steps of her home to the almost aggravating sight of Rick standing at their kitchen counter. It'd been a long, hot day, and he was about the last person she wanted to come home to – which was illogical, she knew, since most of the other people they lived with were gone. But she was still irked by their conversation from earlier in the week. And they hadn't spoken much since then, too busy with tending to Carl and Alexandria. But it was clear she couldn't avoid him any longer, so she let out a small sigh as she opened the door.

Rick, on the other hand, was quite happy to see his friend, a smile tugging at his lips the moment he noticed her approaching. He'd missed her. "Hey," he drawled as she stepped inside, surprised to not see his daughter with her – on Fridays, she was on Judy duty. "Where's the little one?"

"Still with Karen," she answered plainly, thinking that should've been obvious. She did a quick scan of their home, frowning at the set dining table before her gaze landed on the stove. She realized he was in the kitchen because he was cooking, which only perplexed her more. "What... are you doing?"

"I'm makin' dinner?" He posed it as a question, because he was unsure why she seemed confused by the notion – he made dinner often; again, typically on Fridays.

"So you're not coming to Glenn and Maggie's?"

"What's at Glenn and Maggie's?"

"Dinner… party… something," she shrugged. She couldn't imagine Maggie hadn't mentioned it to him, but then, she probably figured they'd speak about it at some point. And ordinarily, that would've been true. "It's Glenn's birthday," she added. She met him at the counter to see how far he'd gotten in his preparation. The spaghetti was already boiling. "We can have it for lunch tomorrow."

"Maybe even a late night snack tonight," he suggested with a smirk. They always joked about how Maggie wasn't the greatest cook in town. "Do we know what's on the menu?"

"I didn't ask," she shook her head, surveying the area again, making sure the kitchen was clean enough to leave. He'd made a salad too, which she had to admit looked pretty good. It was rare that they had fresh vegetables. "I'm just interested in cake and liquor."

He nodded as he watched her pop a slice of carrot into her mouth. "For your sake, I hope it's chocolate."

She rolled her eyes at his pandering while also secretly hoping the same. She might've even enjoyed that he knew how much she liked chocolate. "Are you wearing that?"

He looked down at his jeans and his light blue linen shirt, wondering if she was implying that he shouldn't. "Is there somethin' wrong with this?"

"No," she assured him, though her tone left him questioning her sincerity. "I just need ten minutes to take a shower and get ready."

Rick checked his watch, seeing that it was just half past 6:00. "Alright…"

"Put this stuff away?" she gestured to the food.

"Yes, ma'am." He continued to simper as he watched her head for the stairs, clearly still perturbed with him, and he wondered if and how he was going to fix that. He really did hate the distance between them. "Hey, shouldn't we bring a gift?" he called after her before she could get too far. He followed her to the staircase so that he could hear her answer.

"I have it covered," Michonne sighed. She wasn't even sure how they'd become 'we' – even she thought of them as a unit, despite everything he'd done to make it clear that they weren't. Which was probably why she was still so annoyed with him. She had a mind to let him figure out a gift for Glenn on his own, but it wasn't like places to buy birthday presents were abundant in the apocalypse.

"Do I get to know what it is?" he asked when she didn't say anything else.

"It's this game called Portal," she shook her head, knowing he'd have no idea what she was talking about. "Since he found that Xbox a few weeks ago… I noticed it when we went on that run to Target and thought he'd probably like it."

Rick nodded. He could remember Glenn talking about said game with Carl on more than one occasion, way back at the beginning of this whole thing. "That's very thoughtful."

"Yeah, well… I try to be." She hoped he could hear the sarcastic implication, _Unlike some people_ , in her answer.

"Can't wait to see what you get me for my birthday," he joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. Though at this point, he knew he'd be lucky to not get punched in the head again.

"Are we done?"

She wasn't in a joking mood. Noted. "So… fifteen? Twenty minutes?"

"Yep," she said, before turning up the steps.

"As much as I'm enjoying this old married couple vibe between us, I'm not sure how it's gonna play in front of other people," he submitted, still smirking as he watched her move up the staircase. "Just somethin' to think about."

"Go clean up my kitchen," she ignored him. She was glad he couldn't see her face in that moment, as she forced herself not to smile. She knew she couldn't be mad at him forever – probably not even through the night – but for now, she had no intention of letting him know that.

* * *

"So I was in Guatemala. With this one over here," Aaron was saying, gesturing to his boyfriend with a happy smile. "So it was our first night there, and we somehow ended up having dinner with a local family, at their home. And we had the most delicious, like, crab soup, and stuffed peppers, and elotes. And we were all drinking and laughing and speaking bad Spanish, but they were so kind."

"I was the one with the bad Spanish," Eric interjected into the story. "They were actually impressed with Aaron and the other two people we were with."

"That's not true," Aaron modestly denied. "But so, they bring out the main course, which was a dish called 'sesos', or what one might call 'cow brains'." He nodded as the group began to laugh, which made him laugh, too. "I was already full, so I probably should've left it at that, but they were such gracious hosts, and we didn't want to be rude, so naturally, we tried the cow brains."

"Was it cooked, at least?" Michonne asked, her face scrunched with concern. She was a pretty well-traveled chick, and she'd eaten a lot of delicacies that might've been considered odd, but this one even challenged her palate.

"It was cooked," he confirmed. "But you couldn't tell my stomach that," he chuckled. "I got _so_ sick."

"It was horrifying and a little gross," Eric laughed.

"I was a lot gross," Aaron admitted. "So yeah, I spent my twenty-seventh birthday – and the four _subsequent_ days – throwing up and hallucinating conversations with Madonna. It was actually pretty magical."

The circle of friends continued to laugh at his trauma, while Maggie questioned, "Eric, did you not get sick too?"

"I didn't," he shook his head almost regretfully. "I just had a feeling that wasn't gonna go well for me, so I passed."

"Yes, leaving me to suffer," Aaron teased him. "But you know what, it was a birthday I sure as hell remember."

"What about you, Abe?" Glenn asked, moving around the circle as the laughter ceased.

"Oh hell," Abraham sighed, setting down the nearly-empty bottle of beer he'd been nursing. "I can barely remember yesterday, much less what the shit I was doin' at twenty-seven."

"Hadn't you just gotten back from Kuwait around that time?" Sasha reminded him, recalling one of the many things he'd told her about himself. She'd spent so much time pretending not to listen, but much to her own surprise, she clearly cared on some level.

"Shit, you're right," he chuckled. "Which means I was unemployed and broke. Who's next?"

Michonne shook her head at his abridged story – which was disappointing, because Abe was a great orator – and volunteered herself. "I'll go," she said, also setting down her glass of what was supposed to be a margarita. "So let me see. Twenty-seven. That was - I was moving to Atlanta that weekend, and my birthday was actually my last night in New York," she started to recall. "So I had a going away birthday dinner with my friends, and... there was a lot going on, actually," she chuckled somewhat nervously. "That was the night I ended up meeting the guy I..." She paused before saying too much, not quite ready to reveal to all these people that she had a son in a past life, and so she had to be mindful of what she said about Mike. "I guess you could say I ended up meeting the love of my life."

Rick sat up a little straighter, more interested to hear this story than he probably should've been – in the year they'd known each other, he'd learned tons of little things about her. But it felt like she preferred to keep the big things close to the vest. So he was eager to know who she was, and even who she was with, before she found him.

* * *

 **[ _August 2002_ ]**

Michonne let out a heavy and frustrated sigh as she leaned against the door of her building. She'd been waiting 20 minutes for someone to enter and/or exit the two-story walkup, but given the 3:00 am hour, she wasn't surprised that she'd had no such luck. "I guess I should just buzz the super," she submitted quietly; disappointedly. She looked to the stranger who'd been helping her through the inconvenient ordeal of losing her purse, and therefore her keys, wallet, phone, and everything else she needed to exist. She especially needed it _now_ , because she had a flight in five hours.

"We could always try breaking in," the stranger joked. His name was Mike. Michonne had yet to get a last name, or even any real idea as to why he was so intent on helping her. But she liked him immediately. He was gorgeous, and he was kind, and he'd made the most of roaming New York City in the middle of the night, looking for something they both knew they wouldn't find.

"I can't believe I did this," she continued to shake her head. "I don't do things like this."

"You mentioned that," Mike smirked. "A few times."

"I'm sorry." She took that opportunity to relieve her aching feet by sliding down to the sidewalk to take a seat, using the brick building as a rest for her back. "I know I've been terrible company tonight."

"Nah, you're fine," he assured her, meaning it in more ways than one. He took the seat next to her, gazing at the side of her face beneath the streetlight. "I'm just reminding you that you've had a rough night. You don't have to keep apologizing."

Michonne scoffed in reply. 'A rough night' was putting it mildly. It was hard enough spending the evening saying goodbye to all her closest friends. She'd spent much of the past few weeks questioning this whole move, and now that it was finally here, she positively did not want to leave. But she would, because she had a new life – hopefully, a better one – waiting for her in Atlanta.

But her goodbye dinner was then capped off with her boyfriend of two years dumping her – as it turned out, he wasn't as into the idea of a long distance relationship as she was. And with that on her mind, she ended up leaving her purse at the restaurant; and thanks to all the gifts she'd carried out, she didn't even miss it until she was halfway home. So she returned to the scene only to predictably find that it was gone.

To wrap a nice bow around her hellish evening, she was another year closer to 30, which was pretty terrifying all on its own. So yes, it had been a rough night and then some. "I don't know what I'm gonna do," she groaned.

"Well we know we're never gonna find your purse," Mike said, resting his tired head against the building along with her. "And you're not getting new ID before your flight."

"Thank you for that reminder…"

"So you're left with two options. You can postpone your flight for a few days…"

"Which puts me in Atlanta later than I need to be," she nodded wearily, thinking of her new job at her new law firm, and what a bad impression that would make.

"Or we can get you to Atlanta some other way, and you worry about the other stuff later."

Michonne looked over to him, her expression a mixture of curiosity and intrigue. "'We'?" She tried not to grin, but her tired cheeks betrayed her.

"I mean…" He chuckled bashfully, recognizing that he was probably being too forward. Of course, the entire night was just a series of him taking little leaps in order to help this beautiful woman. And in turn, get to know her a bit. "I've gotten you this far."

"Which is to say, nowhere," she quipped playfully.

"And still, I'm here for you."

She smiled. Again. She really did appreciate that he noticed her in distress and tried to help. With no way to contact her friends, and her parents unable to immediately help from Louisiana, she wasn't sure what she would've done. She never would've had the courage to scour the East Village and beyond on her own. "Can you get on the Greyhound bus without ID?" she wondered.

"I'm sure you could get on Greyhound with a bodybag and no one would look twice," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I took a Greyhound out here when I first moved to New York. I'm not letting you do that on your birthday."

"Technically, it's not my birthday anymore," she smirked as she inwardly tried to recall where he said he was from originally. St. Louis was on her mind for some reason, so she would go with that.

"Somewhere in the world, it is."

"You're very sweet, but it's basically the only play I've got."

"What if some very kind fellow... who happens to be sitting on a sidewalk with you at the moment, offered to rent a car to drive you down there."

Michonne snorted, and not daintily. It was an ugly, loud snort that seemed only amplified by her quiet neighborhood. But the idea was just so ridiculous, she knew he had to be messing with her. "Very funny."

"It wasn't a joke," he grinned.

She looked over at him, amused, trying not to be drawn in by what might've been the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen. Because despite it, the idea was still ludicrous. "So, what, you're gonna drive twenty hours for someone you met tonight? Then drive back alone?"

He laughed again as he heard his grand plan out loud. "That does sound crazy, huh?"

"It's very kind," Michonne smiled back, patting his knee, wishing she could take him up on his offer, "but this isn't a movie."

He granted that with a shrug, but couldn't stop himself from staring at her. "This night has been pretty surreal, though, right?" he asked, the hopefulness evident in his tone. "It wasn't just me?"

In four short hours, they'd tracked the possible purse thieves to Spanish Harlem, getting lost on the way there, getting chased on the way back; they took refuge in the lounge of a hotel, where Mike revealed himself to be an excellent piano player — just before they were kicked out; Michonne won a whopping $20 in a game of pool at a party they'd crashed in midtown. Once they called it a night, they were unable to hail a cab, and once they did, it refused to go to Brooklyn, so they ended up on the 4 — the local version, of course — to her Boerum Hill apartment. It was indeed surreal. And weird, stressful, thrilling, frustrating, and beautiful. She couldn't have planned a better last night in the city. "It wasn't just you," she whispered.

He nodded appreciatively, even if she was just saying it to be nice. He also knew their time together was coming to an end. "So I guess this is goodbye, huh?"

"For now," she was quick to say. She was five hours fresh out of a relationship, and had no business entertaining anything new at the moment. But she was fairly certain she'd met someone special in Mike, even if just a friend. And she wasn't ready to just walk away from that. "Before we go, gimme your phone."

He quickly fished his Nokia from his pocket and handed it over, watching as she tapped at the buttons with quick ease. She returned it with a smirk, revealing that she'd typed in the little bit of contact information she had – her name, Michonne Anthony, and her email. "Why... do you have an 'A' and an asterisk next to your last name?" he wondered out loud. "Is that a scarlet letter?"

She laughed. "Just in case you need a reminder that I'm the girl you met on Avenue A."

Mike nodded again, another small chuckle to follow. "Trust me, I couldn't forget you if I tried."

Michonne grinned back at him, impressed and enchanted. It was the perfect line to end their movie scene. So she didn't say anything else.

* * *

 **[** _ **November 1998**_ **]**

Rick let out his third yawn in the span of approximately two minutes, his eyes watering this time, as he continued to stare at his son. He was asleep for the time being – finally, after three straight hours of crying – but he still looked so miserable. His tiny hand covered his right ear, obviously still bothering him in his slumber; his little body so frail; his forehead dampened with a combination of sweat and the water they'd used to try and cool him down. Rick leaned in, resting just a finger on his son's bare foot. He'd gotten so used to Carl's animated personality – him running all over the place, despite just learning to walk a few months ago. To see him in so much pain he didn't want to move, it was a parent's worst nightmare. Rick's fatigue-induced tears quickly turned to ones of heartache. Fear.

"I'm with you, son," he murmured, softly running his finger along his flushed skin.

Just then, the hospital door creaked open, and in walked Lori, toting a slice of cake with a single unlit candle, a comforting smile on her face.

Pleasantly surprised by the gesture, Rick wiped his face and quietly hopped up from his chair to allow his wife to sit. "Hey."

She immediately waved him back to his seat as she began to sing to him in a sweet whisper. " _Happy birthday to you; happy birthday to you_ ," she grinned. " _Happy birthday, dear Daddy._ This is from me and Carl," she added as an aside. " _Happy birthday to you_."

Rick smiled tiredly, but appreciatively, as he welcomed Lori into his lap, the two of them staring at their sick son. "Thank you," he whispered back, pretending to blow out his lone candle. It was actually a relief to not have 27 of them staring back at him.

"I'm sorry you have to spend it in the hospital," she submitted regretfully. "I know how much you hate them."

"I'm all right," he smirked, surveying the little paper plate with his dessert. "Where'd you even find this?"

"Well…" She leaned over in their chair to examine their son as she answered, "A family over in the maternity ward was celebrating, so I bargained for it."

"Of course you did," he chuckled softly. He used his fingers to grab a small piece of the yellow cake with pink frosting. He hadn't eaten since breakfast – after a busy day at work and coming home to a screaming, ailing child, he hadn't even realized he was hungry until that very moment. He downed a couple of bites, deciding it was on the dry side, but it would do to quiet his stomach. "You want some?"

"I'm good," she declined, still studying Carl. She leaned in closer still, attempting to move his hand from his ear so that she could get a better look, but only caused him to stir. "Shoot."

"Why'd you mess with him," Rick asked, his mouth full. "He was okay."

"I just wanted to see if his ear was still leaking." Their son soon began to whimper at his discomfort, and she did her best to soothe him back to sleep, tenderly rubbing his stomach. "I'm sorry, baby," she whispered – to no avail, of course. Carl's mewls quickly turned to the full-blown cry that sent them to King County Hospital in the first place.

"We should get the nurse," he suggested, recalling how they'd been able to calm him the first time.

Lori shot up from her chair to go find their favorite RN, while Rick stayed behind, trying futilely to comfort their son. He was scared to move him, for fear of making it any worse, but it was so hard to listen to him howl in agony. "I'm here, buddy," he said, but closed his eyes at the piercing sound.

Within a few minutes, their kind and knowledgeable nurse, Paula, came to the rescue with her cart full of tools. Rick stepped out of the way to allow her close, both he and Lori watching worriedly from the sidelines as she tried to pacify him while taking his temperature. "Okay, Mr. Grimes," she cooed, handling the one-year-old as gently as she could. "I know. I see that ear bothering you." She checked her watch and then the whiteboard near the door, seeing that there was still another hour before his next round of medicine. "I can drain his ear," she told the parents as she confirmed the thermometer results, "but it's not quite time for another dose yet."

"That medicine seemed to be the only thing to make him sleep," Lori contested, having to almost yell over Carl's cries.

"I know." She nodded understandingly as she rubbed at Carl's back. "His temperature is going down, so that's a good thing. We're just gonna have to ride out this next hour or so."

"He sounds like he's dying," Rick commented. His voice was practically trembling with worry, and his eyes said the same.

"He's not," Paula assured them both. "It hurts, but he's okay." She continued to treat him, gently wiping his ear of the fluid that had collected in it. "Be patient and tough," she quietly declared – she said it to Carl, but she hoped Mom and Dad could hear her, too. Her many years as a nurse and mother had taught her a lot, but few things resonated more than the lesson of patience with the hard stuff. "Someday, this pain will be useful to you."

Rick moved to the other side of the bed to make sure that Carl could see him, his eyes watering again as he watched his kid wail. He couldn't imagine this pain ever being useful to any of them. "Is it okay if I hold him?" he asked.

"Of course," she encouraged him, sending a sympathetic smile to Lori as she observed them. "I'll be back at midnight for that next dose."

"Thank you," Lori whispered, following Paula to the door, making sure to close it behind her. She felt bad that their hospital neighbors were stuck listening to a screaming child yet again. But then, as she turned back to her husband and son, seeing Rick swaying around the small room with their baby, the crying began to subside. Carl's bawling turned back to whimpering as his father cradled him against his chest, humming to him. She couldn't make out the tune, but she imagined the vibrations of his voice soothed him, much the same way it often did her, and it made her smile. "You're a good dad," she said out loud, admiration in her tone. "We're lucky to have you."

Rick looked over to her, surprised and genuinely moved by the compliment. "I dunno, I think the jury's still out on that," he joked, ever so humbly.

"We are," she insisted. "It's your birthday. And I know most guys your age would be in some bar, drinkin' the night away. Unable to even imagine puttin' someone else first."

He smirked, still rubbing at Carl's back as they spoke. "Why does somethin' tell me that's a dig at Shane…"

"It's not," she chuckled quietly, approaching him; wrapping her arms around both her boys. "I just know there's no place you'd rather be."

"There isn't."

"And I love you for it," she added as she rested her head against his strong back. Closing her eyes, she felt so safe with him.

"I love you, too."

"Happy birthday, baby."

* * *

The relaxed evening had turned to night, but the festivities continued. Music played from inside the house, while guests wandered in and out, taking advantage of both the warm summer breeze and the selection of refreshments. Michonne was outside on the Rhees' porch steps, enjoying some chocolate cake and relative quiet when Rick came to find her. He hoped he wasn't disturbing her.

"Is it all right if I join you?" he asked with a tentative smile, clutching his own plate of the dessert.

She didn't answer verbally, but moved her leg to allow him onto the steps. She rested her back against one of the railings, Rick taking the other so they were facing one another.

He watched for a few beats as she sat there eating her cake; smiling to himself as he made a mental note to bring some home for the kids. Judith didn't get sweets often, so she would like that. But mostly, he was just trying to think of an opening line. The evening had gone well, but they also had the distraction of 12 other people, which allowed them to ignore each other. And maybe it wasn't deliberate, but he didn't want to head back home with the same tension they left with. "So Mike, huh?" he asked. He wasn't sure why he landed on that as an opener, but it seemed like as good a place to start as any.

"Yeah. He's the one I told you about talking to…"

"I remember," he nodded, having figured as much. "As you were talkin', I started wondering if maybe he was the reason you haven't really… pursued anyone since we got here."

She took a brief pause from chewing her food, thinking he couldn't possibly be serious. But she quickly recovered and replied, "No, I just haven't found anyone worth pursuing."

"I see," he chuckled; though in truth, he felt like she'd just stabbed him with her fork. "I thought maybe you were still holding a candle for him," he posed quietly. "I noticed you said he was the love of your life."

"No," Michonne scoffed as she took another forkful of cake. "I was trying to remember him fondly. But he's gone, and that's that."

"Well I was nine when my parents got divorced and my dad never remarried," Rick offered with a small shrug. "People hold candles."

Michonne stared at him briefly, considering whether to expound on exactly why she'd lost that loving feeling toward Mike. After everything he'd been through, she was pretty certain he'd understand, but a part of her liked the idea that Carl was the only one that knew. Rick was clearly good at keeping secrets from her, so she didn't have to feel bad about keeping this from him. "Mike doesn't deserve my candle," she answered simply.

He nodded again, slowly, accepting that however things ended, it likely wasn't good. And he knew just how much that could fuck with you. "Lori didn't deserve mine either. Not really. But it still took me a long time to figure out how to put it out."

"You seemed to be doing well until we got here."

"Well that's what I get for ignoring it instead of dealing with it," he smirked. "I feel like I tried to bury it, and then we walked in these gates and it just seemed to punch me in the face."

She gazed at him again, feeling her frustration trying to slip away on that moment. She didn't allow for the fact that a lot of his actions were because he was still grieving Lori. Or rather, he was _finally_ grieving her. He was probably right that there was a reason he still wore that ring. "I don't wanna be mad at you, Rick," she confessed, shaking her head. "I won't pretend that the way you acted here didn't bother me, as much as I wish it didn't. But after what we experienced with Terminus and everything else… the way you carry the weight of this group on your back…" She let out a sigh. She wasn't sure whether she was being too hard on him or making excuses for him. "I can see why you were selfish for a little while."

"For what it's worth, I appreciate that you called me on it. I didn't see it, how it affected you. And I should've. I was in a marriage where she couldn't see how the things she said and did just… they ate at me sometimes," he shook his head. "So I know that's not who I wanna be."

She replied with a sad smile, though she couldn't help but notice this was the second time that day that he'd compared their relationship to a marriage. "Good," she replied.

"And for what it's also worth, I would never forget about you." He stared at her; her pretty, dark face gently illuminated by the porch lights. "I worry when we're not close. Not just in physical proximity, but… emotionally. These last couple of days have been hell." He smiled quietly as he let his words linger for a moment, waiting until her eyes found his. "Jessie was… a girl I had a crush on," he shrugged. "You're… my best friend."

She smirked at the fact that he felt the need to separate those two things. "Not that I need to be, but… why wasn't I the girl you had a crush on?" she wondered. When he looked at her like an antelope in headlights, she appended, "Why did I get put into the friend category?"

"Because it seemed like that's what you wanted to be," Rick returned, his brow line knitted with confusion. "I mean I thought we had… somethin' on the road. All those nights we spent side by side. Talkin' when one of us couldn't sleep. How you'd come and sleep next to me in the van or whatever… it seemed like that was goin' somewhere." He sighed as he pictured it all. Those were some of the best and worst days of his life. "But then we got here, and you pulled back."

"I did not," she interjected.

"You did," he maintained. "I remember I was so... thrown when you picked a room downstairs, away from me and the kids. But I figured you wanted your space," he shook his head again. "And then you were all about the job and always with Deanna." He chuckled, because he actually thought it was endearing how excited she'd been. "You wanted this place more than anyone, and I thought it was important to let you have it. But you weren't worried about what I was doing."

"You're so full of shit," she rolled her eyes with a sarcastic chuckle to follow.

"Michonne, why do you think Deanna asked you what you wanted for your life?"

She wished she hadn't told him that now. She shrugged again, unwilling, and perhaps unready, to delve into a real answer to that question. "I don't know."

"Because she knew how much of your focus had gone to this place. How much you took care of everyone but yourself."

"Fine," she sighed, hesitant as she was to admit that he was probably right. "So you're saying you lost your mind over a married woman because I liked having a house too much?"

"No," he calmly denied, exhaling softly. "I'm not… I did what I did, and it had nothing to do with you or us. I'm saying you _were_ the girl I had a crush on. And maybe even more than that. But then we became close in other ways, and it just…" He sighed again, his hands relaying his loss for words. "I guess our friendship became more important than anything else."

She stared at the top of his lowered head, trying to decide whether she believed him. Trying to see the situation from his side. "I didn't realize it," she admitted. "I thought I'd backed off because you were acting so strangely, but I didn't know you felt the same."

He nodded tentatively, biting at his lip before asking, "So you admit that there was somethin' happening on the road?"

With a little sigh, she rewound to about a month prior, when she found Rick and Carl after the prison fell. That house. She remembered immediately thinking it would've made a good home for the three of them. In the end, she was glad they left and went on this journey, as it allowed them to find Judith and all their friends. But sometimes she did daydream about what it would've been like if they'd stayed there. And even as they made their way to Terminus and to Virginia, it did feel like something could've been in the cards for them. The shy smiles and lingering gazes. The late night talks. They were Mom and Dad to not only Carl and Judith, but what felt like the entire group sometimes. "I dunno," she eventually answered, forcing herself to shake away the thoughts. "Not like it matters anyway. We're in a different place now."

Rick's solemn gaze flickered at her response, but he didn't disagree. "Yeah, I guess so." He watched her scrape up the remnants of her cake before looking at his nearly full plate. "You can have mine."

She looked up, baffled, until she saw his proffered plate, her frown turning to an amused scoff as she cocked her head to the side.

"A peace offering," he added with a little smile.

"If I needed an offering, this half a slice of cake wouldn't suffice," she smirked, happily accepting it. "But thank you."

"Welcome."

Michonne went on to devour the double-chocolate delicacy, ignoring the fact that Rick was likely watching her as she did. "For what it's worth," she said between bites, purposely mimicking him, "you're my best friend, too." She took another bite of her cake before reconsidering, "Well… second best."

He grinned, knowing she was fucking with him, which meant they were okay. Or at least he _hoped_ she was fucking with him. "So that's what we're doin', huh?"

"It's true though," she shrugged casually, licking her fork.

"Who beat me out for first?"

"Carl, obviously."

He chuckled animatedly as he nodded – in hindsight, that actually was pretty obvious. "All right, I'll allow it."

"Like you have a choice," she snickered, gently kicking his boot in a show of playfulness and familiarity — two things she'd missed over the past few days, given the distance between them. "We should actually go visit him before we head home."

He agreed as he checked his watch, surprised to find that it was almost 10:00 pm. "Shit, we need to go pick up Judith."

"What time is it?" she asked, already out of her seat before she finished the question.

"Quarter to ten." Rick gestured for her to hand over her emptied plates so he could take them inside. "I'll go and tell Maggie we're headin' out."

Michonne replied with a quick nod, then watched contentedly as he walked away. And she couldn't help but recall the old days, before the world ended, how she and Mike would attend parties, not unlike this one, and would have to head out early to relieve their babysitter, not unlike this instance. In reality, she and Rick didn't have to leave together – it wasn't like they rode in the same car; it was a two-minute walk back to their home. But somewhere along the way, they'd become a package deal. And she had to admit, it wasn't the worst thing in the world to have a friendship that mirrored a marriage in a lot of ways. In fact, it was pretty nice.


End file.
